Dead and Rising
by Malnormalish
Summary: The world is now a different place, ravaged by the undead. For Lauren Brent, nothing will ever be the same. As she makes her way to a new civilization, she finds friends and enemies, horrors, and greed. Zombies aren't the only things to worry about...
1. Chapter 1

-1-

Her legs were starting to lose feeling after awhile as she hid in an alley behind a dumpster. It was a stupid move on her part, because she had carelessly cornered herself. She drew her legs in and held her arms tightly to her sides, trying not to stick out from behind the dumpster. She was crouching in a smelly liquid, one that had spilled over the side and pooled in the crevice between it and the concrete wall. It had probably sat there for two weeks, festering in the sun, since no one was around to get the garbage. Lauren held her breath as she heard their footsteps coming closer. Although it wasn't cold outside, in fact it was probably in the nineties, a shiver traveled down her spine and spread throughout her body. She heard them, as clear as day, pause at the opening of the alley.

_Oh, god, please no_, she prayed. _Please don't let them come down here. God, oh, please.  
_

She heard their raspy breaths echo off of the concrete, and she stiffened and drew herself in tighter, almost crushing her sides. Suddenly, her prayers were answered, and a car alarm some blocks away went off, distracting them and throwing them off her trail. The zombies continued past, and she could hear them groan as they followed the source of the noise. She was drenched in sweat, and for a few minutes she couldn't pry her arms away from her body. After the shock her muscles relaxed and she fell over into the liquid sludge. She didn't care, because it was either that or the zombies. It took a few attempts to stand up because of her numb legs, but once she did she cautiously peered around the corner.

No sign of them. That was always good. She edged her way out of the alley, and turned in the opposite direction of where the zombies had gone. She ran as fast as her sore legs could take her, stopping only when she thought she saw movement. For Lauren Brent, this sort of thing would've never happened in her wildest dreams.

She had never believed in the living dead, if that's what they were. She was a practical woman in her early twenties, a middle school teacher with a boyfriend and a modest apartment. Or, at least, she was. The last time she saw her boyfriend alive was two weeks ago, on the day when he had cooked her an anniversary dinner to celebrate two-and-a-half years together. He had died before she got home from work.

He was going to propose to her, she later found out. That had been a horrible night. If it had started at any particular moment, she believed it was that night. For awhile the news had been talking about possible terrorist attacks with some sort of biological weapon to kill thousands, possibly wipe out millions. Everyone was secretly waiting for an attack and as the days crept by nothing happened, and it quieted down a bit. Then, that night, people started just dying. In the streets, they would just keel over and that was that. Or so it seemed. Her boyfriend was one of them. She had arrived home at 5:30 and found him sprawled across the kitchen floor. She had checked his pulse, which was nonexistent. There was no blood, no fracture, no sign or cause of death. He was just dead. She tried calling nine-one-one, but the lines were busy.

Carefully, she laid him on his back and had covered him with a quilt. Sobbing, she had turned the television on and it showed pure chaos. She sat on her couch crying, not knowing what to do, when on the news the worst had happened; the dead were rising and attacking people. She didn't believe it; she knew it must have been a sick joke. But as the night went on she knew that it had to be real, especially when her boyfriend appeared again in front of her. It had been hell, she had thrown anything she could at him, and when he didn't stop coming at her she had rushed upstairs and grabbed the 9mm semi-automatic they had kept in their bedroom closet. He went down after a couple of shots in the head, hitting the ground with a loud thud. Before he died she thought she heard him grunt her name, but she quickly dismissed it.

She sat there, locked in the bathroom, crying all night. He hadn't looked like a zombie. He still looked alive, his skin had lost some color but he looked the same, except for the eyes. His eyes had rolled back, exposing the whites. She knew now the only reason he didn't look like the things chasing her was the fact that he had died only hours before he had risen again. She had stayed in her apartment for a few days and decided she would try to go to her parent's house to see if they were okay. She loaded a backpack and started her car. She hadn't made it far when the zombies attacked her and she was thrown off the road. She only nearly escaped and had fled behind a grocery store. She waited there for a few hours with a mother and son, only to be met with a group of undead.

She had made an escape, but she never knew what happened to the others. At that time there were still people alive, the ones that hadn't randomly died and were trying to escape. She was sure now that she was one of the few ones left. Exhausted, she rounded a corner and ducked behind an abandoned car. She grabbed her backpack from her shoulders and rifled through the contents; ammo, a flashlight and extra batteries, some band-aids and med-sprays, a bottle of water, an extra change of clothes, and finally pulled out an oatmeal bar. She knew she had to be quick, staying too long outside was a sure way of death. She opened the wrapper and immediately regretted it. The noise from the wrapper cut through the eerie silence like a siren. It said, "Come and get it, your dinner is ready." She threw the bar into her backpack and quietly zipped it up. Crawling alongside the vehicle, she raised the gun and scanned the horizon for the undead. There were cars strewn sporadically across the street, garbage fluttered with the breeze, and glass covered the sidewalks from the broken-out windows of the stores. There was not a god-damned bird in the sky. She weaved in between the cars, occasionally glancing back.

"Shit," she muttered under her breath as she heard the tell-tale noises from down the street. She should have known better than to stop in the open and rest. It was this kind of mistake that would most surely lead to the end of her. She quickened her pace, staying low and hoping that the zombies couldn't see her. As she sidled to the next car, she heard their footsteps echoing behind her. They were gaining fast.

She quickened her pace, apprehensive to use her gun in fear that it would attract more of them. She slid her way in between two buildings, trying to cut through to the other side of the street without giving her position away. They were close together, wide enough for her to just fit through. She edged her way to the other side and, winded though she was, continued down the street. There had been at least three of them chasing her, and after a few minutes of caution she slowed down. It was quiet again. That dead silence that was almost as bad as the wailings of the zombies. Almost.

She kept to the side of the road, ducking behind anything she could. As she made her way around a truck and two SUV's, she heard a rattling sound. She froze, gun pointed in the direction of a green station wagon. There was movement in the car, enough so that the wheels moved slightly. Lauren inched her way closer, and peered into the window of the back seat. A body was lying across the leather seats. Her hand trembled as she reached for the door handle, ready to fire in a second. As the handle was pulled, the body shot up, screaming almost as loud as Lauren herself. She backed up, gun raised, and was about to fire when the old woman inside the car threw her hands up and said, "Don't shoot! I'm alive!"

The old woman laid a hand across her heart and took slow breaths. Lauren lowered her weapon, feeling her own heart beat fast after the shot of adrenaline. "You scared the shit out of me, Blondie," the woman stepped out of the car and stretched. "I could say the same, old woman." Although slightly irritated, Lauren was glad to see another living person. It had been awhile since she had talked to someone, and the silence was getting to her. "

My name is Carol, by the way. And I know what you're thinking, but I'm not as old as I look." She was eyeing the gun in Lauren's hand, and before she could speak Lauren said, "Does this piece of junk run?" Carol let out a half-hearted laugh that sounded more like a raspy cough, and replied, "Well, do you think I'd still be in this hell hole if it did? Of course not!" She lowered her voice and looked around before she continued.

"The only reason I was in there in the first place is because those things got a sight of me and I had to get the hell away quick. Good thing they didn't see me duck in the car, or I would've been dead for sure." Carol glanced at the gun again and said, "By the way, do you have any more of those? I could sure use one, Blondie." Lauren shook her head. "No, this is the only one I have, and I'm starting to run low on ammo." She checked the magazine, and only a few were left.

"Anyway, I'm Lauren Brent. Nice to meet you." She held out her hand. Carol nodded and said, "I'm not very good with names, so don't get mad if I call you Blondie." Lauren dropped her hand to her side and looked around. The street was deserted, but the sun was starting to set. Soon it would be dark, and dark was bad. "I don't care whatever the fuck you call me, as long as I stay alive. Now, do you want to come along?" Carol smiled and said, "I like your attitude. Sure, I'll come with you, I could use the company."

" Nights alone here really can mess someone up, you know?" Lauren nodded. She knew all too well the horrors of the darkness, listening to the shuffling footsteps of the living dead, too afraid to sleep. She started walking, and Carol followed behind her. "All I ask is that you can keep up. I'm not too good at shooting this thing, so I usually have to rely on a quick getaway." Carol sure kept pace pretty easily with Lauren, so she doubted if walking was going to be a struggle. "Can you run? I mean, not to offend you, but you're not exactly a spring chicken, are you?" Carol shook her head and said, "No, I'm not as young as I used to be. But let me tell you something, I sure don't feel fifty-eight." Carol had short, silvery gray hair that was curled around her head in wisps. She had pallid skin and thin lips, and wore white-rimmed glasses.

Despite this, the short woman had an air about her that suggested she would be more than able to run from hordes of swarming dead. They walked for around thirty minutes before stopping in front of a small convenience store. After cautiously checking the inside, Lauren gave the okay to Carol and they set up a small shelter for the night. They had pushed some shelves in front of the door and windows, almost completely blocking out the last rays of sunlight. Sitting in the corner and eating some of the various food items that hadn't spoiled, Lauren learned that Carol had been living by herself in a small trailer park when her next door neighbor Edna, who had been visiting, had a heart attack.

Carol tried to call the ambulance, but like Lauren, the line was busy. That was when Edna had lunged at Carol and tried to bite her. Carol said she beat her with a lamp but nothing had slowed her aged neighbor. She said that Edna was speaking in a garbled language that she didn't understand, and finally the corpse went down after several blows to the head. Carol had heard screams coming from outside and a few more of the residents were being mauled down by the creatures. Carol said she ran from her house, but ended up being chased out of the trailer park and into the city, at last ending up hiding out in the station wagon.

They sat in darkness, listening to the noises that were stirred up by the night. Outside there was scratching on the side of the building, and moaning coming from every direction. They probably knew the two women were holed up inside of the convenience store. The silence between them was broken when Carol said, "Why do you think this started, anyway? Do you think it's because Hell got too full, and now the dead walk the earth with tormented souls?" Lauren shook her head. "I don't believe that's what happened. I don't know what I believe. All I know is that things are never going to be the same. I'm still in shock from all of it. Doesn't seem real, you know?" Carol nodded. Lauren tried to hide the tears welling up in her eyes, but eventually they started to flow down her face. The rain fell outside with her tears.


	2. Chapter 2

-2-

"Shit." He had fallen asleep for five minutes, but five minutes were too much. A sign of weakness now was out of the question. He straightened his back and picked up his gun. His head felt heavy, as did his eyelids and his limbs, which were now numb. He grunted and stood up, slowly and as quietly as he could. He had to get himself awake, aware. Scratching his beard he staggered like a drunk to the bathroom. His sweaty hands gripped the doorknob and for a few seconds struggled to keep hold.

He finally got it open and flicked the switch. The lights flickered on. He rummaged through the medicine cabinet, looking for something to keep him awake, anything. His hand found grip on a bottle and he tugged it out from underneath a box of blackened, moldy tampons. "Provigil," he said aloud despite the fact that he was alone. He popped the cap open, and swallowed a couple as he sat down on the toilet. The pills should keep him up until dawn. Then he would leave the rundown cabin. But where would he go? He didn't think about it, his plan had ended at staying alive for the night. His new motto these days was, "Whatever happens, happens."

He just needed to keep alert and focused until dawn. Nothing else mattered; he just had to keep going. He suspected that they had picked up his trail by now, and it wouldn't be long before he heard the telltale scratching and moaning that gave them away. So far, he was halfway to his destination, but halfway was nothing. Leaning against the toilet tank, his eyelids heavy, he rocked side to side to stay awake. His head felt heavy, it swung loosely on his neck, and soon his shoulders slumped and his vision blurred. He tried to resist the oncoming slumber, but the flickering lights in the bathroom lulled him even more so. He had stayed awake for nearly four days with no food, and was running low on energy. As he drifted in and out of consciousness, he decided that a few hours' sleep wouldn't hurt anything. Richard closed his eyes and fell into a deep sleep. He didn't hear the scratching and clawing coming from the outside.

He awoke later in darkness. At first, he thought he was dead. The darkness was solid, thick. He had forgotten where he was for a moment and almost panicked until he felt the side of the toilet bowl.  
He straightened up and gripped his rifle.

"Power must've gone out."

His voice startled him. He hadn't heard a voice in three days. After a moment he got up and opened the door. The hallway was dark, but it wasn't solid. He could make out the outline of another door and some picture frames. Silently, he crept out into the open. The whole cabin was dark. He flicked his wristwatch on. The display read one 'o'clock. He'd slept for an hour. Raising his rifle, he walked into the living room. Nothing stirred.

"Not like anything would be here," he sighed, "I have this place boarded up good enough." His deep voice seemed to echo down the hall. His name was Richard Anderson, a thirty-three year old black man who had served the army for eight years and worked as a salesman. He was holed up in a cabin out in the woods of Pennsylvania. He had been living with his wife Ellie when it happened. At the time, everyone was being quarantined because of some sort of epidemic. The news reported only a few cases that had been popping up. He'd decided he would move him and his wife into their vacation home near the mountains. On the trip there, his wife, who was pregnant, began bleeding from her nose. She shrugged it off as changes in the air. That was when all hell broke loose. She started shaking; he thought she was having a seizure. He stopped the car and got out and around to the other side. She screamed, telling him she was dying. He tried to calm her, but it just got worse. She was shrieking and flailing, and then suddenly she stopped.

Her head smacked onto the dashboard and blood trickled down her face. He tried to revive her. He was sobbing over her when her body shot up and pinned him to the ground. He screamed for help, but the road was clear and no one was around. He kicked her off and held her down. He asked what was wrong with her, but her corpse just smiled back and tried to rip at his face. He had gotten into the car, and he remembered running her over. It happened so fast. He remembered driving while crying the whole way. The cabin he'd ended up at wasn't his. His car had broken down and that was when he saw a group of the things rushing out of the woods toward him. He'd escaped into the forest and found the cabin unlocked, the windows hastily boarded up already. No one had been inside, so he had hidden in it for the past three days. Now, as he stood in the darkness, he heard them.

They were scratching at the doors at all sides. He gripped his rifle tighter in his sweaty hands and backed away from the window. He bumped into the couch, inhaling a sharp breath of musty air in surprise. He pulled the ugly purple couch out of the way and slid it to the door, using it as an extra blockade. He then turned to secure the back door when he heard shuffling to his right. He glanced at the fire place. Soot was falling off of the walls as a creature was crawling down the chimney. "The fucking fireplace! How could I forget the damned thing?" He said in frustration as he ran to it. He aimed up the chimney and squeezed off one shot, then two. A corpse slid down the brick and landed with a wet plop at the base. Its neck was broken but its head was still intact. A ghastly grin stretched across its souring face as it looked at him. Its intestines hung out of its stomach and it was missing an arm. It started to get up but he blew off its head before it could do anything else. He hastily shoved a recliner into the opening, covering it enough to give him some time. He went into the kitchen and saw that the door was being crushed in. He checked his ammo and he was empty. Both exits were blocked, along with the windows.

He ducked into a nearby pantry just as the boards cracked and three creatures poured in. The pounding and scratching ceased. His heart beat fast in his chest, and he was afraid the things could hear it as loud as he did. Through the slits in the door, he could make out two figures standing over a fallen coffee table. He wondered were the third one was; he clearly saw three come in through the window. The bigger figure, the one closest to him, started towards the hallway. The smaller of the two stood there, still and silent. Richard held his breath as the bigger one passed by the kitchen. Then he heard a wet sucking sound.

His eyes dropped to the creature on the floor, half of its body missing, dragging itself along. The sound continued, and Richard knew that it must be wet, rotting flesh sticking to the hardwood floors. It made its way slowly toward him, making ragged sounds mimicking breaths. He knew the things couldn't breathe. The dead don't need air. The creature in the living room started to move after being idle for god knows how long, and it followed its companion on the floor. They stopped in front of the pantry, and Richard closed his eyes and prayed to god, sweating bullets. He gripped his rifle like a club, ready to strike, when something big lumbered through the door. The creatures turned to it, and almost instantaneously attacked. The mobile one jumped on it, clawing and scratching and shrieking.

The creature let out a roar.

_It's a fucking bear_, Richard thought.

The bear seized the shrieking zombie and tore it to shreds, growling and thrashing around. The larger zombie hurtled toward it, lured by the commotion. It launched itself onto the animal's back, and tried to bite a chunk out of it. Richard gazed as the bear grabbed hold of it, ripped it right in half, flinging it in every direction. Then, the animal turned to the zombie on the ground, which had silently been inching toward the beast. It batted at the zombie with giant claws, shredding it to pieces. The bear turned and went out, as if nothing happened. Richard stayed in the pantry for awhile before daring to open the door. He wondered why the animal hadn't eaten his killing, and just left right after. For that matter, he wondered why the bear was there in the first place. Gathering his courage, he slid open the door to the pantry and looked at the massacre that could've been him.

For the most part, the bear had done a fairly good job at killing his predators. The putrid meat stuck to the walls and some stuck to the ceiling. He started across the room when his boot squished in something. He looked down at a pulsing pile of decaying meat. The zombie without a bottom half was still alive, or still undead, and was attempting to pull itself up to him. He brought his boot up and in one fluid motion crunched its head under his steel toed footwear.

He figured now was the perfect time to get going, and after reloading, he stepped out of the cabin and into the cold night air.


	3. Chapter 3

-3-

Alan bolted across the parking lot, shoes in hand and blood running down his leg. Four zombies darted after him, decaying parts falling off with every stride. He cringed in pain when a pebble, kicked up by his feet, hit his left leg square in the wound. He cursed as he limped away from the zombies, which were closing the gap quicker than he anticipated.

He had been hiding out in his house when he started one of his tics. He had a mild form of Tourette's syndrome, which he used to get made fun of when he went to school for. Whenever he felt stressed or nervous, especially during school, his face would twitch. Sometimes he made noises, like a grunt or cough. He was eighteen years old, and he didn't tic as often as he did when he was younger. His mother used to make jokes about the way his face looked when he twitched, or how he couldn't keep a girlfriend for long because he'd get too nervous around her. She never understood her son, and most of the time she ignored him. She wasn't making fun of him much these days, though.

He kind of preferred the jokes to this. He turned onto another street, preferring to stay in the shadows. The creatures pursued him still, falling over one another. Behind him, his mother let out a gurgling screech. His leg was swollen, and with every step a jolt of pain was shot through him. His feet were beginning to become raw from the pavement and he stepped on a shard of glass. The creatures behind him closed in. He didn't know how smart they were, or how well their senses worked, but they weren't being shaken off easily. He threw his shoes at them, hoping to slow them down. When they didn't, he continued limping away. The sun had gone down awhile ago, and it was dark.

Off in the distance, Alan heard thunder. "Shit, just what I need." He quickened his pace. Suddenly, he felt like giggling. He knew it couldn't get worse than this, the dead coming to life, chasing him down a street during a thunderstorm. But suddenly, he wished he regretted he thought that way. An armored vehicle crashed through the street, crunching smaller cars under it as it headed toward Alan and the four zombies. He heard laughter from inside the vehicle, and then someone opened fire. A bullet ricocheted off the pavement, sending bits of concrete into his eyes. The vehicle was heading straight for him, headlights on full blast.

_Those mother fuckers are going to kill me_, he thought. He ducked behind another car just in time to see the vehicle plow through the zombies, sending parts flying into the streets. Brown blood splattered the window of a Laundromat, and some pink liquid ran down the glass.

One of the zombies, his mother in fact, was still walking. Her empty eye socket was filled with congealed blood, and she was missing an arm. She was thrown to the side, but had somehow avoided the barrage of bullets and the head on collision. She squirmed towards Alan; arm extended in a hug that wasn't motherly even when she was alive. Alan stood up and walked towards his decaying mother. She lurched forward, mouth open, blood spilling out of her mouth. "You were a bitch, and I hated you. But even you don't deserve this." She was inches in front of him, and he raised his fist. "Love you, mom." His fist made contact with cold, doughy flesh. It sank into her face up to his wrist. Her arm shot out and grabbed hold of his arm. Then she let out a final gurgling sound and stopped moving. He pulled his hand out, little bits of grey matter coming with it. She fell to the ground with a sickening thud. The armored vehicle had turned around at the end of the street and was slowly coming back the way it had come.

Alan wondered if they were searching for him, or just seeing if they had killed all the zombies. He cautiously walked toward it, and saw that there were at least six guys in the car. They all carried weapons and the one that was driving was saying something. He waved his arms in the air. "Hey, guys, I'm alive! I'm not one of them! Thanks for saving me!" The car sped towards him, and he heard more bullets being fired. "Fuck!" He dodged the car by inches, landing on the body of his mother.

The car's tires squealed as it turned around and started back. He shot up and tried the door to the Laundromat. It was open, thankfully, and he dived into it and hid under a counter. The car's headlights filled the room as it passed.

"Come out, come out, wherever you are! We won't hurt you, just come out and say hello," a voice called. "Or we'll huff and we'll puff," gunshots echoed through the street, glass shattered somewhere, "and we'll blow the fucking roof off!"

Alan cringed as the glass from the window above him shattered. The car's engine died, and it sounded as if it was close by. Car doors slammed, and he heard footsteps crunch on the road.

"All right, you dip shits, I don't want this one to get away either. You heard want the boss said. Any survivors are to be killed on contact, unless they're women. This one didn't look like a fucking woman to me, did it?" The others agreed.

"Then get moving. I don't want to be caught in this storm at night, and I sure as hell don't want to be here with you guys. Three of you take that side of the street, and us three will take this side. The little faggot probably didn't get very far."

They dispersed, and Alan had to restrain himself to try not to tic again. It's what got him in trouble in the first place. He heard wood splinter across the street and voices, but other than that it was quiet. The men hadn't started at the building he was in, so he could probably make it if he were quiet.

He crawled from his hiding spot and looked around. There were no other windows or exits, just another door at the far right end of the building. He made his way toward that, making sure he didn't make any noise. He passed a washing machine that still had soapy clothes in it, but the soap was pink. An arm lay on top of the laundry, dripping blood onto the sudsy clothes. He passed a row of dryers, and found the body to which the arm belonged.

An older man, clothed in a tank top and loose pants, lay against a dryer with a bullet in the middle of his head. He wasn't going to get up anytime soon. Alan found himself wondering if the wound was made before or after he died. Making his way to the back, he heard the door open behind him. A man stood in front of the door, back to him, shouting something. Alan ran into the next room, which was a restroom with two stalls.

A small window, big enough for him to fit through, was at the other end of the restroom. He started towards it when he heard, "What an ugly fucker this guy was. Dude, check this out!" He had no time to spare. He tried unlatching the window, but it had rusted closed. He didn't want to smash it in or they would know where he was instantly. He waited for them in one of the stalls, knowing his time was almost up. The restroom door opened, and he closed his eyes.

"Smells like shit in this place," Matt McKinley said as he put out his cigarette.

"That's because it's a restroom, you idiot," Jason Thompson clonked Matt on the head playfully with his fist.

"Let's just get this shit done so we can get out of here. I'm hungry and tired." Matt kicked open the stall nearest them and said, "Look, I'm a ninja." Jason rolled his eyes and reloaded his gun. They had used up a lot of ammo scaring that skinny kid away.

"Check your magazine, Matt." Matt took his gun out. "Hey, why the hell are we even doing this, anyway?" he said. "Because you idiot, the more survivors we have, the more we have to ration our food. They're going to die anyway, so why don't we just kill them?" Matt shook his head.

"That's not what Rick said. He said that-" Jason lit his third cigarette and cut in, "Rick is an asshole. He acts all high and mighty just because he used to be a marine. I say fuck him." It was quiet enough in the restroom, except for a fly that was buzzing impatiently around the stalls. Matt swiped at it as it buzzed around his head. "

"This really is a shitty job. Phillip and Jay get to shoot zombies all day, and look what we get to do; chase down a scrawny kid during a thunderstorm." Jason had nearly forgotten about the approaching storm. "Then stop bitching and get a move on." Matt shot him an irritated look. "Hey, what makes you think you can boss me around?" Jason leaned against the wall. "Because, I'm bigger than you and smarter, too. Just do it." Matt muttered as he kicked open the next stall.

A smile grew on his face, though, when he saw the skinny little brown-haired kid cowering on the toilet seat. "Look what we've got here, Jason! A little piggy, and by the looks of it he's hurt. We should help him," He grabbed the kid's arm and pulled him out. The kid staggered for a moment and regained his balance. "What's your name, fag?" The kid had dirt caked around his face, and his leg was badly hurt.

There were shards of glass poking out of an open wound.

"Alan Berkley. Please, don't kill me." Jason let out a laugh around his cigarette. "What makes you think we'll kill you?" Alan shrugged. "You did say you would…" "_We're_ not gonna kill you, kid. But the bastard out there, Rick, he's probably gonna kill you. How old are you?" Alan shifted his weight to his right leg and said, "I'm eighteen." He looked at the ground, shoulders hanging low. "What are you doing out here all alone? Don't you know there are zombies hanging around? Are you retarded or something?"

Instead of answering, he let out a yelp and started blinking his eyes repeatedly. His face twitched, and he continued to yelp. Jason glanced at Matt, who shrugged. "Guess he is retarded. Better bring him outside." They dragged the squirming teen out onto the road. The others were waiting outside for them. "Looky, boys! We can go home now!" Matt yelled and the others cheered. A tall blonde man, cleanly shaved and hair combed neat, walked towards them. He had a smile on his face that was as pleasant as the zombies were themselves. "Nice work, Thompson. You too, McKinley. You can go wait in the car, if you want." Jason shook his head.

"No way, Rick. We got him, so we stay. "A loud thunder clap shook the earth, and lighting struck somewhere in the distance. Alan shivered despite the humid weather. "Whatever you do, just stay the hell out of my way. We don't want another incident." Jason scowled.

The 'incident' had been during one of their regular raids. They had found a group of survivors huddled inside an apartment. There were three men and two women, and Rick had killed all of the men. He had apparently tried to get the women to have sex with him, but when they refused, he shot them. He went against the single rule to bring the women back to the base, and had killed them on the spot. He had reported that stray bullets killed the female civilians, but Jason knew he did it on purpose. Jason hadn't liked being put on the team with Rick. He didn't like the idea of killing people, especially the eighteen year old.

But, orders were orders and if he didn't follow them, he could be next. Alan kept screeching and twitching as he was thrown to the ground. "Shut him up, someone, before he attracts the undead." Roger, a tall polish man with a lisp, walked over and kicked Alan straight in the mouth. Blood poured onto the street as he gasped for air and yelped. He spat out a tooth and didn't make another sound. "Now, before we kill you, are there others with you?" Alan struggled to speak over his mouthful of blood. "N-no. And even if there were, I wouldn't t-tell you assholes." Roger kicked him in the side and he stopped moving. "Enough, Roger. I still have to speak to him." Rick walked up to him and bent down.

"You talk tough for such a skinny kid. Do you even realize who you're speaking to?" Alan said nothing.

"We are a group of people that have banded together and have successfully survived this ordeal. We have everyone from soldiers to the homeless recruited, but we all have one thing in common. Do you think you can guess what that is?" Alan tried to shrug but gave up.

"We aren't little faggots like you, that's what. Hand me my gun." A stout man who was sweating so much he was drenched handed him a gun, which was then pointed at Alan's head. Alan closed his eyes, ready for death, when he heard screams coming from a distance. It started raining. Down the street, what looked to be an entire parade was running towards them. Rick shouted orders to the men and they scattered. The undead flocked onto the road, hundreds of them pouring into the street. Guns were being fired. The men were shouting at each other. A hand came down on Alan's shoulder. "Get the hell out of here, kid."

Jason stood over the bloody boy, firing into the oncoming wall of zombies. "Go far away. We're doing a sweep of the whole city, so you'll need to leave if you don't want to run into us again." The boy glanced at him and began to ask something, but Jason shouted, "Go!" as a rouge bullet blew past him. The boy got up and limped down the street, away from the confusion. No one besides Jason knew he left.


	4. Chapter 4

-4-

Alan ran as fast as his swollen leg would take him, careful to make his way as far away from the battle as possible. He slowed down when the sounds of fighting faded, and finally stopped at a convenience store to rest. It had been raining the whole way, and he was soaked to the bone and tired. Leaning against the store, he slowly sat down, wincing when his leg met the ground. Lighting struck in the distance as sheets of rain came down. He couldn't hear a sound over the roar of the rain, and couldn't see anything, either. He hoped there wasn't anyone around. He never thought that he had to worry about anything that was still alive. Up until now, the only things that threatened his life were the zombies.

Now he knew better. People could be monsters, too. He looked at his arm, which had started to sting. He had been grazed by a bullet when he was escaping, and now blood trickled down onto the pavement. He hoped the smell didn't attract any zombies. It had gotten dark fast, and with no more electricity the streets were pitch black, the moon light covered by the clouds. He suddenly felt very lonely. He had never really had friends. Not because of his tics, but because he just didn't fit in.

Even so, he only felt that immense loneliness now. He was contemplating what to do next when he heard voices inside the store. He whipped around and looked at the window. It had been blocked up by something. There were people in there. He tried to get up but was unable to bend his leg. He was starting to panic now. Judging by what happened to him, he wasn't going to trust people as easily as he did. Suddenly he heard something out in the darkness. Underneath the rain and the voices from inside, there was something that made a noise. One metallic crash, just loud enough to be heard under the rain, sounded to his right. He squinted into the darkness, but it was useless.

It was too dark to make out anything. He was starting to panic again, and couldn't help but begin to hyperventilate to prevent himself from screaming. Another crash to his left this time; from the sound of it, it was rolling down the street. It must have been a garbage can that was knocked over. Whatever it was, he could only imagine what made the noise, standing in the darkness and prowling. Maybe if he just stood still, maybe it- or they- wouldn't notice him. But luck was not with him, as it seemed that day, because they picked up his scent nearby and drew closer, shielded by the darkness and the rain. And what he didn't know was that they could see him.

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Lauren told Carol that it would be okay if the old woman went to sleep while she stayed up. Carol happily obliged and fell into a comatose-like sleep, snoring rather loudly and then blowing air out, sounding much like she was blowing raspberries. It had been quiet until the storm rolled in, and then the rain poured heavily on the roof. Lauren couldn't help but think that it sounded like millions of fingers tapping at the ceiling, trying to get in at them.

Hopefully they would never have to hear that sound. Lauren opened her magazine and checked her ammo again. Of course she wasn't missing any. She'd been obsessively checking it for the past hour or so, making sure she was ready for anything that might happen. Sighing, she leaned against the wall and set her gun aside. It was dark inside of the convenience store except for a small flashlight she kept on, and it was eerie how the shadows in the corners looked. The human eyes are a wonder; they seem to put images where none really are. She rubbed her tired eyes and relaxed a little. There was no use in tiring herself out before anything happened. She started to drift off as her eyes closed.

The feeling was good. Her head felt very heavy, and the rain pelting the ceiling only lulled her more. She was on the edge of consciousness when a noise ripped her from the sleep her body desired for. If you have ever been in a deep sleep and have been abruptly awoken, you know the feeling. Every muscle jerking, a dizzying sense of where you are, and lightheadedness that makes you feel like you fell from a cliff. Lauren felt all of these sensations and the sheer terror that she had been experiencing for the past few weeks. At first she thought the sound had come from inside the store. It was a banging noise, loud enough to be heard through the rain. She'd hoped that it was just the wind knocking something over, but it happened again, right in front of the building. Carol had become silent and Lauren turned to check on her.

Carol was wide awake and staring at the blocked storefront, apparently she had been jolted, too. "What was _that_?" She whispered. Lauren shrugged and replied, "I think a garbage can got knocked over. At least, it sounded like it." Lauren stood up and headed toward the front. "Where do you think you're going?" whispered Carol. Lauren looked back at the old woman and said, "I'm just checking to see if we have enough stacked in front of the door, just in case." Just in case of what? In case the dead scrambled into the store, surrounding them with nowhere to go. In case the shelves blocking the entrance weren't enough. Lauren hoped that it would hold and that their location hadn't been revealed.

She wasn't a badass, not like the women in the movies. She didn't go out, guns blazing, in one of those tight little outfits and save everyone from utter destruction. She wasn't brave or strong, she was just a woman with a gun. A nobody that should've been dead long before. But her will to survive had kept her alive this long, and she was damn well sure that some stupid mistake wasn't going to be the cause of death. She inched forward, gun drawn and pointed toward the door. She grabbed another shelf and was careful to drag it without making a sound. She pushed it up against the other one, wedging it in between the wall and the side of the shelf. It was stuck tight. She turned around to give Carol the thumbs up when outside someone screamed. It was loud and shrill. She couldn't tell if it was human or something else, but just as she turned back the store entrance shook. There was someone outside, pounding on the door and screaming to be let in. Lauren glanced at Carol, eyes wide. Then she turned around and pried the second shelf away.

"What the hell do you think you're doing?" Carol shot up. "What does it look like? There is someone out there that needs help!" She yanked the shelf away, sending various food stuffs flinging to the ground. Then she wedged her hand in between the wall and the other shelf and grabbed hold of it. "What makes you think that's not the undead?" Lauren was starting to get frustrated. The shelf was stuck on something. "Because the person is screaming for help. Now give me a hand and help me lift this damn thing!" Carol was about to say something, but seeing Lauren struggle she ran over and helped. The corner of the shelf was stuck on the corner of the wall, so they had to back it out before they pulled it out.

"Okay, I want you to open that door while I shoot whatever is going to come. I need you to stay out of the way." Carol nodded as she grabbed the shelf. Lauren raised the gun and shouted, "Okay, now!" Carol shoved the shelf out of the way and the doors opened. They couldn't make out what the figure was that came inside due to the dim light, but by the movements they could tell it was human. Outside they could make out at least four bodies in the shadows, closing in on the store.

"Fuck! Close the door, can't you see them coming?" Carol yelped as the person ran to the back. Lauren was irritated that the person they just saved wasn't going to help them reseal the door, but that irritation vanished as a creature launched itself into the store. "Shit!" It landed on Carol, pinning her to the ground. Lauren fired three shots, careful not to hit the woman. One missed. The other landed in its shoulder, but the third landed straight in the head. It fell over with a sickening thud. Lauren rushed to close the door up. She'd only gotten one shelf placed before they started banging at the door. Carol was coughing up a storm as she slid the rotting corpse off of her. "

This is gross, look at the mess!" Lauren shoved the shelf and wedged it into place as the door shook. "Worry about that later! Help me with the second shelf!" It took only a couple of minutes before the shelf was in place, and then they sank to the floor, adrenaline running out and their muscles aching. "Good thing there's no windows in this shithole," Carol gasped through raspy breaths. The shelves had taken a lot out of the old woman, and Lauren admitted that she was winded, too. They caught their breath as the barrage to the door outside continued. They looked at the person they just saved. It was a skinny boy in his teens, wearing a torn AC/DC shirt and shoeless.

His leg was a mess of ripped jeans and blood, and he sat breathing heavily in the corner, looking at them. Dried blood ran down his mouth and face, and when he exhaled he broke out in a fit of coughs. After a moment, he said, "Thanks a lot. I owe you one." The old woman began to laugh. "Damn right you owe us one, boy. What is your name?" He leaned back and closed his eyes. "Alan. What about you?" Carol got up and headed towards him. "Carol. And that lovely young woman, the one who saved you, is Lauren." Alan opened one of his eyes and nodded. Despite the noise, the kid looked about ready to fall asleep. By the looks of it, he'd been through hell and back.

Scratch that, he still is in hell. Lauren got up and walked towards them and offered her hand to him. "Nice to meet you." He didn't bother to take it, and just grunted. Any other time Lauren would have been offended, but she agreed with him. Rest now, talk later. Soon the pounding died down, and Lauren supposed they had given up. They all fell asleep just as the storm let up, at two in the morning. What they didn't know was that the dead were patient, and they never tired, unlike the living.


	5. Chapter 5

-note- I have no idea the climate or places in Pennsylvania, because I live in Florida. There places are probably fictional, as well as the climates and scenery. Please keep that in mind. Also in the story the point of view changes. Currently I am too lazy to seperate them (lol sorry), so don't get too confused. Thank you.

-5-

Richard drove down the dirt road in an old Chevy pickup that he took when the former owner had been made mince meat. It was not a pretty sight by all means. He'd witnessed the carnage from the edge of the forest as he made his way to the road. The man had made the mistake of leaving his lights on while he drove, which gave him more visibility in the dark but also attracted zombies like moths to a light bulb. They came in a group of about twelve, running him off the road by standing in front of him and slowing him down as they closed in. It was almost as if they planned the attack. Almost like-

No, they couldn't be. Richard wouldn't even consider the possibility that they could think, plan, or do anything human. Anyway, they had dragged him out of the car and disemboweled him on the side of the road. It was the sickest thing he'd ever seen. They'd ripped his stomach open like presents at Christmas. He'd screamed the entire time. He must've been alive through the whole thing, until he died of blood loss or passed out from pain. Poor fellow never had a chance. When they were finished they wandered down the road a ways and disappeared into the forest. Richard was thankful that it was dark enough to conceal him. He'd then silently walked to the truck, careful not to step on the bloody patches of grass matted with gore.

The key was still in the ignition and he'd easily slid in and started the truck. He switched the lights off and raced down the road. As he passed, he could see the figures standing in the forest, still and silent, and he'd imagined that they watched him with unblinking eyes and insatiable hunger as he passed. A shiver went down his spine as he remembered them in the forest. By now he was miles away, but even just thinking about it set him on edge. The dirt road was a straight path through the forest, and hopefully he would find someplace where he could obtain more provisions. He was running low on ammo and first aid supplies and also on what little food he had. On either side of the road were more trees, but suddenly it opened out into farmland. There were rows of withered corn stretching across the land, rusted tractors sat abandoned in fields. He drove past a cattle field, where in the distance he could make out the bodies of dead cattle, and a few live cows wandered around. He took a long drag of the cigarette he found in the glove box and exhaled slowly.

It was a bad habit, but desperate times call for desperate measures. Flicking his cigarette, he dug through the contents of the glove compartment once more. Not much was in it, a few documents, registration, a first aid kit (which would come in handy, thank you), and the cigarettes he had found. He sat back and took another puff from his cig, turning the radio on and trying to find at least one station without static. Nothing. He sighed and sped up a little. What little cows there were now were gone, just rolling pastures, devoid of life. It was a lonely thought, knowing that you were the only person for miles alive. Rich wondered if the animals could turn into zombies.

He hadn't encountered one yet, and the bear that had helped him earlier hadn't _looked_ dead. But he'd learned not to trust his eyes anymore. There had been too many nights that he had sat up, not able to sleep, and had mistaken a shadow for a creature lurking after him. He'd seen a lot of shit go down when he was in the army, a lot of corrupt shit. Nothing was even close to the horrible things that were happening now. He was smarter than most people, and wary of other survivors.

People could be monsters, too, and he sure as hell wouldn't be killed by his own kind. The thought mad him sick to his stomach. In times of crisis and peril, even when all hope seems to be lost, humans still couldn't get along. They just couldn't band together and fight the opposition. No, they still turned on each other, moved by greed and the will to live more than anything. Some people just didn't care what happened as long as they lived for another day. Those thoughts made Richard hate his own kind more. Fuck, if the zombies can band together to bring us down, why can't we? His mind was racing with angry thoughts when all of a sudden something flew in front of the truck. He had enough time to say, "Shit!" and swerve off of the road. He gripped the steering wheel, trying to regain control, when a tree came out of nowhere and he collided with it.

Now, here's the thing about this situation. Richard had heard stories of people who were just driving along when "a tree came out of nowhere" and he'd rolled his eyes and said, "Trees don't just appear out of thin air." But now, he knew it was true. The fucking tree just appeared there, or so it seemed, where a tree was not before. The truck fishtailed to the left, and he turned the wheel in the same direction but it was too late; the truck spun out of control and slammed into the tree. The whole front end was obliterated, and Rich had been flung out of his seat and cracked his head on the dashboard. His lip busted.

Blood ran down his head, warm and sticky, and his vision blurred. He tried to lift his head, but it felt heavy and he just wanted to sleep. He knew he couldn't though. He grabbed his gun and stumbled out of the truck. The fresh air helped clear his head a bit, but he still felt lightheaded and dizzy. After a moment his vision returned and the blood stopped flowing as thick. He looked around, and something big and black lay in the middle of the road a few yards away. He'd struck it going at least sixty, maybe seventy miles an hour. Nothing could survive a head-on collision like that.

As he made his way to the animal, he saw that it was a large black cow. Its head was obliterated; apparently run over by the vehicle when it was knocked to the ground. A huge gash ran down the side of its neck down to its tail, spilling blood onto the road. "Damn," he said as he massaged the place where his head was busted. The thing wasn't dead. It writhed and twitched, unable to cry out in pain due to the damage to its head.

Richard didn't know if it was conscious or if the muscle spasms were the last nerve pulses being sent throughout its body, and he sure hoped that it still couldn't feel. He raised his gun and positioned it to what was left of its skull, closed his eyes, and pulled the trigger. The cow let out a gurgling noise, shuddered violently for a second, and lay still. He briefly wondered what had made the poor animal run into his vehicle as he stepped away from the bloody mess. He examined the cow, and noted that its tail had been ripped away, leaving a bloody, exposed nub. Suddenly, his thoughts were interrupted when he felt a sharp pain in his back.

"What the-" The zombie was digging into his back, ripping his shirt open and salivating onto his neck. It bit down on the soft spot behind the head, and with a shriek of surprise and pain he flung himself to the ground and beat the zombie off with his gun. It rolled onto the ground with its mouth filled with bright red blood, eyes wide. Its eyelids had apparently been ripped off, so it looked in a constant state of surprise. It scrambled toward him, stomach open with entrails spilling out. He moved his foot away before it could grasp it. _Man, these things are pretty strong_, he thought. The zombie's ears were gone, and its wide eyes were only exposed whites.

The tips of its grasping fingers were cracked and dried; the fingernails had long since fallen off. It opened its mouth and tried again for his leg when he lifted it and slammed down on its face. His foot sank in; rotten teeth fell out onto the ground. He pulled his foot out with disgust, the smell was overpowering his senses and he hadn't heard the rest of the creatures coming his way. The zombie kept advancing, even though its head was collapsed in.

"Guess your brain is still intact," he said aloud as he held his gun out, about to club it one final time, when the rest of them dropped in on the party. Now, here's the thing about zombies; there is _never _just one. Always be prepared for a group, and always keep your senses on high alert. Richard instantly knew that there was no way he could get out of the mistake he had made. Even though they were no faster than the average human (did they seem stronger, or was that just his imagination?), they could easily overpower even the most heavily armed person just with sheer numbers. He cursed himself as they landed over him, arms outstretched and a ravenous hunger in their soulless eyes.

He wouldn't go without a fight, that's for damn sure. He kicked and lashed out, knocking the first zombie out with a last blow to the head. Three more were gripping at him, one of them was a fat man in overalls who was missing his jaw but still tried to take a bite off of his arm. Richard balled his hand into a fist and punched the fat bastard square in the nose, but was appalled to see its skin drop away and land on the ground with a wet plop. Another zombie, a woman that was almost completely naked and looked like a walking skeleton, attempted to bite his ear off. Rich shoved the barrel of his gun into its mouth a squeezed the trigger. Its head exploded, bits of skull and brain flying into different directions. The two other zombies didn't falter, overpowering him and pinning him down. He closed his eyes and waited for them to disassemble his body, but it didn't come. Instead, a child's zombie head exploded and its body fell on top of him. The other zombie, attracted by the commotion, turned its attentions to the person firing the gun.

A woman stood there, pumped her shotgun, ejecting spent shells that fell onto the ground. "Stay low!" She said as the fat zombie advanced on her. It let out a moan and lunged. She quickly dodged it, letting it stumble as she aimed. She squeezed the trigger and its leg blew off, causing it to fall over onto the dirt road. It used its arms to drag itself toward her, its skinless face devoid of all emotion, except for hunger. She turned to him, "Persistent son of a bitch isn't he?" Richard only stared, wide-eyed with his mouth hanging open. He couldn't believe it. One minute ago he was almost zombie food, the next he was saved.

It was his lucky day, apparently. The woman waited until the zombie crawled just inches in front of her, locked on to her target, and fired once more, the head exploded, the body went limp, and all was quiet. Its carcass sat in a smoking pile of congealed blood and fetid flesh. Richard got to his feet, and although still a bit dizzy, walked to his savior. "Thanks a lot, miss." He held his hand out and she took it with a smile.

"The name's Stacy. And don't thank me just yet, look over there." She pointed the gun to the edge of the pasture, where grassy fields met dark woods. He could see bodies emerging from the forest, making their way to the source of all the gunshots. From what they could see, there were about twenty. Richard turned back to Stacy and shrugged. "Hope you have a way of getting out of here, Stacy. By the way, my name is Richard. Call me Rich, for short." She smiled and said," You're in luck, Rich." She gestured to a silver and black motorbike sitting across the road. "You've got to be kidding me." Richard sighed. Stacy smiled and nodded.

Richard used to ride motorcycles back in the day. He owned two of them, both Harley Davidsons. He loved the feeling of riding down a long road, speeding across country with the wind whipping his jacket. But never, not in a million years, had he ever thought he'd be riding in the bitch seat of a motorbike. How his buddies back home would laugh if they ever knew. He closed his eyes as some dirt flew in his face and grunted.

"Sorry back there," called Stacy. "I only had one helmet. You sure you don't want to use it?" He shifted his weight so that he could see her more clearly.

"No, I don't need a helmet. I'm fine. You need to keep that pretty head of yours safe. My hard skull can withstand almost anything. " She chuckled and turned back to focusing on the road.

They flew past more fields and then entered more forest, eventually making it back onto paved road. Once they got onto the highway, maneuvering started to get tough. Abandoned cars littered the road, cluttering up the way and slowing them down. Stacy was making her way gradually around an overturned semi-truck, careful not to run into any hidden car parts. "The good thing about these things," she said, tapping the bike," is that they are smaller than a car and easier to squeeze through tight spots. Makes for a good getaway, you know." Richard nodded. They slipped past the wreckage and continued down the road. The sun broke through the horizon, lighting up the road. Morning had come at last, but it was still chilly outside. The cuts on Richards face had dried, but his busted lip had reopened and they were freezing.

Adding to his discomfort was the urgent pangs he kept getting from his bladder. "Mind if we stop for a bit?" He asked Stacy. She turned her head and glanced at him, then said, "What? Why? We're making good time." Rich had to strain against letting his bladder go. "I've got to take a piss." Stacy rolled her eyes and let the engine die down. They stopped on the side of the road, and she took her helmet off. Her shoulder-length brown hair spilled out, and she wiped the sweat from her brow.

"Well, go ahead!" She had caught him staring at her and impatience spread across her face. He stepped off of the bike and wandered to a nice sized bush. He heard her mutter behind him, something about men always having to take a piss. "Watch for zombies!" she called. As he relieved himself, he looked up into the early morning sky. It was filled with pinks and oranges and reds. It looked like fire. "Well, I'll be." He muttered as he zipped his pants up.

"The goddamned sky is on fire." He whistled Johnny Cash's "_Ring of Fire_" as he walked back to Stacy. She had lit a cigarette and was puffing on it.

"Didn't know you smoked." Stacy looked up at him, somewhat startled. "Just started today, actually. Thought it was about time, what with the world ending and everything," she flicked the lit cigarette to the ground and stepped on it. "And plus, you just met me. Of course you didn't know."

She grabbed the helmet but before she could put it back on Richard asked, "Where are we going, anyway?" Smiling, she turned to him. "Well, we're heading toward Pittsburgh, I figured we could find some supplies there, then head on into the mountains and hole up there. You in for it?" Richard nodded and rubbed his hands together. "Sure is chilly this morning." He got onto the bike as Stacy strapped the helmet on. "Well, that's Pennsylvania for you." She revved the engine and they sped off.


	6. Chapter 6

-6-

When he told her he'd been bitten, Stacy didn't look very worried. She just nodded silently and looked around. Richard didn't exactly know if being bitten turned someone into a zombie, but he'd seen enough movies to be worried. So as they searched for zombies in the abandoned church they'd stopped at, he couldn't help but imagine turning into one. From what he'd seen, it hadn't been a pretty sight.

Scratching his cuts, he waded through a pile of empty beer cans and soda bottles to get to the other set of pews. Stacy had volunteered to search outside, so as he scanned the wreckage inside she secured the area. Trash was everywhere, and he was appalled to see used condoms sporadically strewn throughout the building. "And in the house of God, for that matter!" Richard thought aloud. He heard Stacy outside, probably digging through some garbage

. "What?" she called. "Did you say something?" Richard sighed and said, "Sorry, thinking aloud. Find anything out there?" Bottles clinked together outside and a bag ruffled. "Yeah, found some unopened beer bottles. Also, the windows are already boarded up. That only leaves the doors. I think we should stay here for the day." Richard nodded and said, "All right." He pushed his way to the front of the church. Dead flowers sat in vases near the top of the small stage, dry and crumbling_. Just like everything else,_ he thought. He was about to turn around when something caught his eye. Someone had spray painted words above the stage, in dark red.

_God does not live here. God is not with us. _

The words brought a deep sadness to Richard that he hadn't felt since his wife had died. He'd believed in God, had read the Bible, and went to church. He knew the words weren't just empty. He could feel the difference. God was not with them. He'd died with the rest of the world. Richard didn't know if he could still believe in God after what had happened. Could anyone? Could he be blamed for resenting God? He let this happen, He let his wife die.

If God was so powerful, why hadn't he helped them? He suddenly felt guilty for thinking that. No, now he needed his faith more than ever, if only to get him through this. He inhaled the musty air and sighed. "Forgive me," he whispered. "Why, did you fart or something?" Richard jumped when he heard Stacey's voice. She laughed and held up four bottles of Budweiser. "Found these just sitting outside…" Her voice trailed off as she followed his gaze to the words. "You believe in the big guy?" Richard stared at her. "Yes."

She sat down on one of the pews and set the bottles aside. "I don't know what I believe anymore. If there really is a God, then why is he letting us go through this?" He nodded in sullen understanding. Stacey scooted over so Richard could sit down. He obliged and there was an awkward silence between them as he took his seat. "What did you do for a job before this happened?" She asked, changing the subject. He chuckled and said, "Well, I served for the army and then became a salesman." She opened a Bud and sipped the hot beer, nodded, and said, "You don't say. Well, no offense Rich, but you don't look like a salesman." He laughed in agreement.

"Well, what can I say? I was never one to wear a suit." They both laughed at this. He guessed she pictured him, a slightly balding black man with a bushy beard wearing a suit. "My wife used to make me wear one when we went to church, though. She said I looked handsome in it." Stacey let out a burp and giggled some more. When they stopped laughing, he asked, "What about you, Stacey? Let me guess, a fashion model?" She shook her head and said, "No. You won't believe me, but I was a scientist. A Microbiologist, specifically." She must have noticed the astonished look on his face, because she let out another laugh.

"Told you! You don't believe me, do you? Well, it's true. I was studying viruses and other microorganisms." Richard clapped his hands together. "Well, I never knew there was such a thing as a pretty_, smart_ girl." She nodded silently. A dark shadow seemed to form on her face as she finished the beer in one last gulp and tossed the bottle aside. "Well, there's something you ought to know. I think I know how this all started. The zombie thing, I mean." Silence again. Richard shifted uncomfortably and said, "You mean, you know what happened?" She stood up and looked at him. "Yeah. By the way, don't worry about that," she pointed at the bite wound behind his neck. "It doesn't get transferred that way. You won't turn into a zombie." He sighed in relief as she began to pace while she talked.

"No, the thing that caused this is a virus. I should know because I studied it." He stared at her, eyes wide. "I know what you're thinking, but we had no clue what it was capable of when we first saw it. It was a completely new virus, the likes of which we had never seen before." She stopped. "Best get comfortable, because I'm going to tell you what this is all about."

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

I was working on a project that dealt with the behavior of viruses.

My job was to figure out what the virus did, how it lived, and if it was a threat. This happened about three years ago. Back then there was an outbreak of a flu-like sickness, spreading across the country in a matter of months. It was aptly nick-named the rapid virus, for obvious reasons. A lot of people were dying, but even more had contracted the sickness and we had no idea what it was, other than a nasty virus. Then, one day, it just stopped. The people who had it that hadn't died yet just got better. We'd gotten a sample of it from a dying patient and had been studying it even though it had stopped spreading, trying to find a vaccine or at least know the mechanics of it.

That's where I came in. I was in a laboratory with a couple other scientists. There was Gina, who knew a lot about Bacteriology and also was a microbiologist, like me. We frequently worked together. One day, when I came in, she was looking at samples on a Petri dish. "Stacey, come look at this." It was labeled _S. morbus_, the scientific name for 'rouge sickness'. I walked over to Gina and peered into the microscope. The sample was riddled with viruses; they were multiplying into the trillions within minutes. I gasped at the huge amount, just on a single dish. Gina nodded.

"They multiply faster than anything else we've seen. They react to light, and sound. Watch." She snapped her fingers next to the dish, which caused the small organisms to speed up, swimming around. It was almost violent. "This is the virus that caused flu-like symptoms, yes?" I asked as I wrote down some information. "Yes, the very same." Scribbling on the paper, I looked up and checked the microscope again. "Do we know where it originated from yet?" Gina shook her head. "We don't know where it could have come from, but it's very resistant. It can survive in the most hostel of environments. We're thinking maybe it was man-made." I nodded in agreement. The subject of biochemical warfare, terrorists setting loose a killing machine, had been on everyone's mind. I rubbed my temples and set the papers aside.

"I don't know, Gina. I really don't. This virus is a tough cookie." Gina went back to work, refocusing the microscope. Then she picked up an eyedropper and injected some human antibodies into the dish. After a moment, she gasped. "What is it?" I nearly fell off of the stool. "When antibodies are present, the virus just completely takes them out. I wonder…" She dimmed the light on the microscope. After a moment, she turned to me. "You know how I said it reacts to light and sound? Well, when the lights dim, it seems they go dormant." I took a look into the microscope. Indeed, it looked like they were slowing down; some even looked frozen in time. I turned to Gina.

"Do you think that this is what's happening?" I asked. Gina looked very confused, so I filled her in. "Well, if it goes dormant, then that means that maybe that's what is happening now. The symptoms stop, the people get better, but does that mean that the virus is gone, or killed?" Gina's face lit up with understanding, but then a grim look spread across her face. "Then that means that even though the people think they are better, they're not?" I nodded.

"That gives us all the more reason to find a cure, or vaccine. We don't know what this thing is capable of." But we found out a couple weeks later. Turns out, it came in stages. The first stage, the viral pathogen spread as fast as it could, how we still don't know. It would come in contact and infect anyone possible. The next stage, we speculated, would be the killing of the host. We had many hypotheses on why it killed some and not others, but we ended up agreeing that maybe it was a way to weed out the weak. We found that the weaker people, ones already having preexisting medical problems, such as cancer or diabetes, were killed more often than physically stronger people. It was like a sick form of natural selection. The virus very well may have been using our bodies for nourishment, keeping its host alive longer so it could grow and spread.

Then, we found, it would go dormant. At that point we had no idea for how long, just that it would seemingly disappear without a trace. Even doctors couldn't find it. To them, the patient looked fit as a fiddle. That's why it was such a devastating problem when it woke up again. By that time, most of the old and disabled were killed off. When it woke up for the second time was the worst part. This stage caused the killing and reanimation of the body. How one could move when they are dead we don't know. Maybe the virus could control the body, or maybe not. That's the scary part, the unknowing.

When all hell broke loose, we still studied the virus, frantically searching for answers. We'd found a couple of willing people, infected with the virus, to be studied. Three-fourths of them died and came back. The remaining ones miraculously survived, even though they were infected. We found that although the virus had awakened inside its host, something caused it to move so slow that it basically stopped the death-to-reanimation cycle we'd been witnessing, and allowed the immune system to keep the virus' numbers in check. I'm guessing it's a form of immunity. Anyway, the ones unfortunate enough to be reanimated were urged on to do the one thing all life forms need; to eat, to gain energy.

This is how the virus still survived in a dead host. Before now, I'd never seen a virus invade and take hold of its host before, not on this level. Once the person died, I'm assuming the virus was in total control, making it less of a parasite and more of an independent life-form. Maybe the reason I'm alive is because I'm immune, or maybe the virus hasn't come into contact with me. All I know is, this thing will have total control of a person's body, maybe even have their memories. The only thing that seems to kill it is decapitation. And as far as I'm concerned, it can't be spread with just a bite. If anything, it'll take blood-to-blood contact to spread. That is, if it's not already invaded our bodies…

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Stacey took a deep breath and sat down again. Richard was astonished. Viruses being able to control someone? It sounded too much like science fiction. Until then, he'd thought the zombies were just mindless meat-bags. But now he wasn't so sure.

What had she said?

_…this thing will have total control of a person's body, maybe even have their memories. _

If it could think, could remember, then could it possibly be able to know how to plan or possibly outsmart humans? His thoughts were interrupted when Stacey let out a cry. "I finally had enough when Gina became infected. She'd died and came back just like everyone else. One night, I was working late, and she came in. She knew where I was, Rich. And she was dead. I... I had to kill her. There was no other way." She buried her face into her hands and started to sob.

Her shoulders shook and Richard put his hand on them. He patted her back and she calmed down. Wiping her eyes, she said, "By then the studying had stopped, it was so chaotic. Zombies had entered the building, but we weren't allowed to leave the premises with the information we'd discovered. Something about the government not wanting the public to panic…. But by then _everyone_ was panicked. I escaped by climbing into the air ducts and ended up in the main room, where the door was locked. I tried looking for other people, but I'm sure they were all dead. So, I broke the door down." Her face filled with rage.

"The so-called government had locked the entire building, left us to die." She kicked a bottle on the ground and it smashed into the wall, shattering into little pieces. Richard watched the shards of glass shine.

"You're one tough chick, you know that?"

She half-heartedly laughed. "But, there is still one more question I have for you." She wiped her eyes again and said, "Ask away."

He had wanted to ask this since the encounter with the bear. "Can animals get the virus, too?" She sighed.

"Here's the thing. You ever heard how animals sense things that humans can't?"

Rich nodded.

"Well, it's like that with the virus. They _sense_ it, know to stay clear. They probably smell it. Anyway, they aren't stupid. Other things can sense it, too. Now I have a question to ask you. Have you ever seen any bugs on the corpses of the zombies? Any maggots, flies? No, you haven't. That's because even bugs know how to avoid it. Fucking bugs! In the end, we stupid humans are the only ones who don't know how to avoid it."

As she said this she threw her arms up into the air. "Not to be rude, but you didn't answer my question. What if they don't sense it? Can they get it?" Richard asked. Again, her face darkened. "Well, we did inject a small mouse with the virus."

"The results, then?"

She looked up at him.

"Immediate. "

It grew silent. This was bad news. If a mouse got infected by the virus and the result was immediate, they'd be in a shitload of trouble. "I think it's because of its high metabolism, but I can't be sure." She stood up and grabbed her gun, begging to reload. "At any rate, we're screwed if this thing does come into contact with animals." That's just what he was thinking. He remembered how the bear had barged in the open front door, mauled down the zombies, and strolled out like nothing. He thought he should tell Stacey. "Hey, I have something to tell you." She looked up from her gun and raised an eyebrow.

"When I was in a cabin, some zombies came in and cornered me. They left the door open and just before they found me, a huge bear waltzed in. I think it was a grizzly. Anyway, it ripped them to shreds. I think maybe it had rabies." Stacey dropped the gun to her side, eyes widening. "I never thought about rabies." She suddenly rushed up to Richard and grasped his shoulders.

"Did it come into direct contact with the zombies?" He nodded.

"Fuck! Do you know what this means? That bear with rabies is probably infected, and right now it's probably _spreading the infection through the forest_. We're so fucked!" She was screaming like a madwoman. He knew he couldn't blame her, though.

The situation was bad enough with human zombies, but if the birds and other animals became the undead, there'd be no escape. He probably didn't even know half of what she knew, which was probably enough to make anyone go insane or shoot themselves. He grabbed her and calmed her down.

"We need to secure this place. Help me find some nails so we can board up the doors." She silently nodded, and they secured the church in silence.

Outside, a woman screamed.


	7. Chapter 7

-7-

They were halfway through nailing boards to the main entrances with old nails, taken from the broken pews, when they heard the scream. It was shrill and loud, slicing through the silence like an alarm. Stacey almost nailed her foot when she dropped the board in surprise. Richard looked at her and they silently exchanged worried looks. The church was surrounded by a wrought iron fence, partially covered by hedges that had been overgrown for what looked like many years.

The motorbike was concealed by these same hedges, making sure that no one knew their location. The area the church was located in was a small neighborhood, only about twenty houses, a general store down the way, and a couple of other stores in the small area.

It was your regular old hick town, and they'd stopped there for that same reason. It wasn't heavily populated, or so they supposed. When the woman screamed outside it had startled them so much because they hadn't heard even the sound of birds chirping the whole day. They'd assumed everyone in the small village was either dead or gone. They went to work taking down the few boards they had already set up, Richard doing the most work while Stacey drew her weapon. The screams turned into one long wail which floated closer to the church.

"Please," the person pleaded, "someone please help me and my baby! Please, anybody!" The woman moaned outside.

Stacey shot Rich a glance, and whispered, "She's going to attract every zombie in the area if she keeps this up." Richard nodded, stripped off the last board, and opened the door.

The woman stood in the middle of the street, a small bundle of dirty blankets in her arms. She immediately spotted them and shuffled forward. She was a husky woman, a regular hick to go with the town. Most of her teeth were gone, and Richard supposed that even if it wasn't the end of the world, she'd still smell as bad as she did now. But she had a child with her, so he couldn't really turn her down.

"Could you maybe lower your voice? If you haven't noticed, we're in somewhat of a danger," Rich asked, thoroughly annoyed. The woman completely ignored him, shuffling past and entering the church without so much as a thank you. Stacey rolled her eyes as Richard peered outside. So far, he'd not seen any zombies, and even after the woman screamed the coast stayed clear. He sighed and closed the door behind him.

As he turned around, the woman seated herself at the far left corner of the church. She cradled the baby and whispered to it. Then, she started rocking back and forth. Richard walked over toward her.

"Is your baby all right? Are you hurt?" The woman shot him a nasty glance.

"Mind your own, boy. You have no idea, none at all. I don't talk to no blacks, neither."

Rich was speechless. Here he was, letting this woman come into shelter off of the streets, and she sat here insulting him. He turned to Stacey, and the same expression was spread across her face. Richard could feel the blood rushing to his face in anger. "Why, you fuck-"

Stacey interrupted him. "Now, listen here, you hag. We just saved your ass and now you're treating us with disrespect. You better straighten your act out before we throw you out of here." The woman seemed not to notice, and continued muttering to the infant. Richard tried to get a glimpse of the baby, but the blankets completely covered it. It almost looked smothered. He was about to say something when it wriggled under the cloth.

"Now, now, sweetie. Mommy will find you something to eat." They eventually just left her in the corner. All she did was sit there with her baby, and they still needed to plan. They discussed what they needed to restock, when to leave, and where they should be heading and finally, when the sun set, they decided at least one of them had to stay up to keep watch. Richard took the first shift while Stacey made herself comfortable on one of the pews. He stared through a crack in the boards covering a window.

Outside, the moon shone and illuminated the area, giving it a weird glow. It was eerie, and quiet, except for the soft breaths of Stacey and the mutterings of the woman. He thought she was probably crazy, in fact he knew she was, but he wasn't one to turn away a person in need. He'd be damned if she tried to pull anything, though. He wasn't afraid to kill a woman to protect himself. He hadn't noticed just how tired he was until he heard Stacey's slow breaths.

It was contagious, just like a yawn. He started nodding off, slipping in and out of consciousness. But every time he closed his eyes, an image of a rotting, putrid corpse would fill his head. And when he finally fell to sleep, he dreamed of a forest of decaying animals surrounding the church…

He awoke to Stacey screaming. He was drenched in his own sweat and had somehow ended up on the floor. As he got up, he saw the crazy woman, straddled over Stacey, both hands clenched around her thin neck. She was shrieking, eyes wide.

Stacey let out a gasp as she fought to breathe. The woman slammed her head down onto the wooden pew, and he heard a sickening crack and splintering of wood. Stacey scratched at the woman's hands, now deeply buried in her neck and drawing blood.

"The devil has come to earth!" Screamed the woman. "All sinners will pay with blood. Repent, or face eternal damnation. Armageddon is upon us!"

She slammed Stacey's head down, more blood gushing out. Richard leapt to his feet and searched for his gun. It lay across the room, underneath a can of gasoline and a bag of their supplies. Stacey was now turning blue from the lack of oxygen. There was no time. He ran at them full force, knocking the woman off of Stacey and sending her crashing into a broken podium. He held her wrists down to restrain her. Her eyes were wide and her fingers covered in blood. Stacey coughed behind him.

"Crazy….bitch..!" She sputtered. The woman wriggled beneath him. "Where's my baby? He's hungry, do not make him wait!" Richard fought to keep her down. "Sorry, lady, but your baby ain't gonna stay with you, not like this." He turned to Stacey. "Think you can go get the baby? We're outta here." She nodded, blood streaming down her neck, which had dark blue bruises from the crazed woman's grip. The woman let out a blood curdling scream. She thrashed out, and somehow got her leg out from under Richard. She smiled, and then with all the power in her, kneed him right in the groin. He gasped, the wind knocked out of him.

Everything went silent for a second, the pain shooting up his back. The woman went for Stacey again, but this time she was ready. She drew her pistol and unloaded a whole clip on her, not bothering to aim. The woman's body shook, blood spurting onto the floor. She fell to her knees, sobbing as more blood spewed from her mouth. Then she collapsed on the ground and said no more. Richard stood up slowly, wincing from the pain in his crotch. Balancing himself, he breathed deeply to regain composure. Stacey stood at the other end of the room, staring down at something. "Richard, I think you need to look at this." Richard limped over to where she stood, stopped, and followed her gaze.

The thing that lay before them could not have been a baby. There was no way the gray, writhing mass of decaying flesh could have even been human. But, they could clearly make out a rotted nose and two dark holes where small eyes would have been. The smell was the worst. It smelled worse than anything he'd ever experienced.

The naked body pulsed; its blankets strewn at its side. It seemed to follow their movements, even though it couldn't possibly see. Stacey walked over to it. Tears were streaming down her face. "Even babies, Rich. Fucking infants. What kind of god would-" She cried as she raised her gun, pulled the trigger, and clicked empty. Throwing the weapon aside, she knelt down next to the dead baby, covered it up with the blankets, and stood again. Then, she brought her boot down onto its head.

He was expecting a crunch from the skull, but it sounded wet. She turned around and threw up. Wiping her mouth, she walked to the window he had been at, stood there, and said slowly, "I think we need to go. Now." Richard nodded and grabbed their bags and the extra can of gas. "What time do you think it is?" Stacey shrugged and looked out the window. Her eyes widened and she backed away. "We have company." Rich ran to the window and peered out. Zombies were coming out of every house and store. They poured out of the woods and all were making their way to the church. "Fuck!" He dropped the bags and scooped up his gun.

"Do you got any more ammo for your pistol?" He asked.

"No, all out."

"What about your shotgun?"

"Yeah, but you're crazy if you think we can take all of those suckers. We're goners for sure."

Rich swirled around, thinking quickly. She was right; they couldn't possibly take on that many enemies. But she was wrong about one thing; they weren't done just yet. Suddenly, he got an idea. "Where are the beer bottles at?" He asked. Stacey whipped around, panic and frustration etched on her face.

"What?!? We're going to die and you want a drink?" Richard didn't hear her. He ran to the dead infant and grabbed one of the blankets that hadn't been soiled. Then, he opened the can of gasoline. "Where the fuck are they?" He yelled at her. They had no time to waste. As she collected the bottles, he began ripping the cloth into smaller pieces. Outside, the dead moaned and shrieked. They would be there any minute. Finally she arrived with three bottles.

"This is all?" He asked. She rolled her eyes and said, "I drank one, remember?" He began opening the bottles and pouring the contents out. After they were empty, he filled each with gas. Then he shoved the rags into the neck of the bottle. It would have to do. Stacey looked bewildered.

"Molotov cocktails. Good job!" He nodded and handed her one.

"Do you have any matches?" She nodded and accepted the crude bomb. "Ok, we only have three, so make it work. Be ready to shoot." Stacey took out a box of matches and took one for Rich and herself. They demolished the boards covering the doors and kicked it open. The night was filled with the sounds of the dead. They could make out many figures running toward them. It was lucky the church was a fair distance from the buildings. Rich waited until the first ones came close enough. Then, lighting the rag, her tossed the bomb into the night. When it hit, it instantly went into flames. About twenty bodies were engulfed in the fire.

The area around it was lit up. Flesh and hair burned, bodies dropped like flies. He smiled to himself. Not even a sophisticated virus could withstand this blazing inferno. As the second wave came, Stacey lit her cocktail and threw it. Just before they went up into flames, Richard thought he saw what looked like a growth on one of the zombies. It went too fast for him to be sure, and before he could do a double-take it was also engulfed in flames. There was a gap between the burning zombies and the ones still making their way to the church. Stacey glanced at Rich and he nodded. He grabbed the bags and gun as Stacey wheeled the motorbike from its hiding spot. She started it up, and the engine roared. Ignoring the helmet, she helped him onto the bike. They sped away from the building, roaring past the rest of the zombies.

Richard glanced back at the church, which had also caught on fire. To his horror, the bodies that had been on fire rose again, stumbling over one another. The things were hard to stop, that's for sure. They had made it only a short distance when something launched from the shadows. A skinny animal, flesh hanging in shreds off of its bones, chased after them. It was surprisingly quick for something dead. "Stacey, theres some kind of animal after us." Stacey cursed and sped up, but that didn't help. The animal easily kept up with the bike. "Shit, this thing is fast! I'll try to shoot it down!" Stacey grunted and Rich pulled his gun out.

He locked onto the animal and shot, the bullet missed. He aimed again and this time he hit, right in its chest. The animal didn't seem to notice. The bullet just tore the rotted flesh away, exposing bone. It quickened, and then leapt into the air. Rich saw it as if in slow motion.

It was a large, dead dog.

It opened its decaying maw, and in one swift motion landed atop the motorbike. Stacey lost control and they skidded. Rich was thrown off of the bike and landed on the road. His skin scraped across the pavement, his head cracked against the ground. He landed on the side of the road in some overgrown grass. Stacey was still on the bike, trying to regain control.

The dog was on it, too, and was snapping at her arms. He heard her scream before she crashed, as well. His vision began to blur as he watched her get thrown off of the bike, the dog following, and then it was silent. He struggled to keep conscious. He forced himself to stand up. He grabbed his gun and began to walk. His muscles screamed in refusal, but he took step after step in Stacey's direction. He could see the dead dog, but Stacey was nowhere. He slowly walked, balancing himself. He finally saw her spread on the ground, bleeding from her head. The dog jerked its head into the air when it saw him. I

t made no sound; no growl, no bark. Instead, it launched at him. Before it could even open its mouth, its head was obliterated. Rich lowered his weapon and sank to his knees next to Stacey. She was alive, but barely. They were both banged up pretty bad, but she would probably be out for awhile.

He heard the sounds of pursuit as the zombies from the church made their way down the road. At this point he was feeling the effects of exhaustion, and, with the last amount of his energy, dragged Stacey into the forest. He had no idea how long he walked with her in his arms, but finally he collapsed.

The zombies' noises had faded away, and all was quiet.

He heard Stacey's low breaths beside him, and passed out.


	8. Chapter 8

-8-

The sun had just risen above the horizon, and rays of light seeped in through the cracks in the boarded window. By the time Alan woke up, Lauren and Carol were already packed and loading their guns.

"Finally woke up, I see."

Alan sat up and wiped his eyes.

He was stiff and sore, his arm was throbbing, and he felt very weak. He couldn't remember when he'd fallen asleep, but he did remember the things waiting just outside the store, waiting to kill them. "Are you leaving?" Lauren holstered her pistol and nodded. Alan stood up and stretched. He glanced down at his leg, caked with blood and dirt. Carol noticed his frightened look and said, "Looks worse than it actually is.

The cut isn't very deep, but just be careful of infection. Remember, we're around dead bodies. They're probably riddled with disease." Carol didn't have a gun with her, but she had found a baseball bat and was wielding it like a club. Alan felt vulnerable without a weapon.

"Where are you heading?" Alan asked as he searched for something he could use. "We were thinking about finding a building in the city that we can secure. There's no way we can travel, not without a vehicle, at least," Lauren said. Alan shook his head. "You know how I got all bloodied up? There are people out there, bad people, and they tried to kill me." He kicked over a shelf, knocking boxes of cigarettes on the ground. "They said they had to eliminate survivors because they didn't want to ration food or something. I think it's a lie. Anyway, I was about to get shot when a whole horde of zombies flanked them.

At the last moment this guy told me to run. He said they were making a sweep of the city and that I should get out. If we stay here, they're going to find us." Lauren glanced at Carol, worry spreading across her face. "And even if they don't get us, I've seen the numbers of the undead. There's just no way we can survive here." He disappeared behind the counter and searched through the junk until he found a crowbar. He picked it up, liking the weight or a weapon in his hands.

"I'm ready. So, what's the plan?" The women stared at him, surprised at his resiliency. Not a few hours ago, he was passed out on the floor and bleeding like a stuck pig. Lauren smiled and said, "Well, we checked, and the zombies are still waiting around outside. There aren't as many as we thought, but it still will be tough escaping. From what we can see, there are three out front and at least two somewhere along the side. " The conversation was interrupted when Carol burst into a coughing fit. Dropping the bat, she bent over and put a hand on her chest. Lauren rushed to her side. "Carol, what's wrong?" Carol hacked for a minute and took a deep breath.

"I'm all right. Just the dusty air, probably." After helping the old woman up, Lauren walked over to Alan. "

You know how to shoot a gun?" Alan nodded.

"Yeah, I think I do. Can't be too difficult, can it?"

Lauren rolled her eyes and handed him a .22 caliber handgun. "Found this behind the counter. Must've been the clerk's." Alan took the gun and threw the crowbar aside. "But, how come you're giving me this? Why not give it to Carol?" Carol started hacking again, so Lauren answered, "She can't use it. Her arthritis is acting up, apparently." Truth be told, Alan was grateful to be packing heat. He'd survived almost two weeks without any weapons, but it was reassuring to have something he could shoot.

After Carol stopped coughing, they talked about how they were going to get out of the store alive. Lauren would be the first to run out, firing at the zombies out front. Carol would follow, making sure they stayed down for good, should Lauren miss any. Alan would cover them, watching out for the other zombies lurking in the alley. Then, they'd make their way to the edge of the city. It was a simple plan with a lot of loose ends, but it was all they had. Lauren threw her backpack on and walked toward the door. Her and Alan grabbed the shelves and moved them while Carol caught her breath. "Will she be okay?" He whispered. Lauren grunted as the heavy shelf slid across the floor.

"She'll be fine. Just make sure you have our backs, all right?" Alan nodded as the shelf slid out of the way. The second shelf came away a lot easier, and when they were done Lauren gripped the gun in her hands. "Okay, guys. Get ready to run. Aim for the head, and try not to make a lot of noise. We don't need every zombie in the area to be after us." They silently nodded as she threw the doors open. Running outside, she held the gun out in front of her.

There were two zombies atop a car on the other side of the street. They were ripping apart a body, blood running down the windows and dripping onto the road. One of them chewed on an intestine; another was digging at the eyes of the unfortunate victim. They didn't seem to notice her standing there as they disemboweled the cadaver. She aimed for the one ripping out an eyeball and squeezed the trigger. The bullet hit it's mark; a solid hole right in the middle of its forehead.

It dropped off of the car and landed with a thud, it's swollen, blackened body limp. The other zombie, now alerted to their presence, leapt off of the car and went for her. Lauren pulled the trigger, but this time she missed. It hit the zombie in the torso. Without so much as a hesitation, it lurched forward, its bloated body covered in the tatters of a business suit. Out of the corner of her eye, Lauren saw another zombie stalking up behind her. Before she could do anything, the zombie in the suit threw itself at her, knocking her to the ground. Its breath stank as it opened its mouth, revealing blackened gums and cracked teeth.

The tongue was a swollen, purple glob, lying at the bottom of the mouth. She retched as it drew closer.

She saw Carol run out of the store and clonk the other zombie on its head, obliterating the skull as it fell to the ground.. Lauren screamed as the zombie's blue lips pressed against her arm, the wet flesh cold against her warm skin. Before it could bite down, a shot rang out and sliced through its head, barely missing her arm by inches.

The body went limp and fell on top of her again. It was heavy and cold, and she struggled to throw it off. Alan ran up behind her and dragged the corpse off.

"Sorry about that. " Helping her to her feet, they began running down the street, with Alan in the lead and Carol bringing up the rear. _Way to stick with the plan_, thought Lauren. Carol was meant to be in the middle because she was the weakest. Lauren briefly regretted bringing the old woman with her, because she was not ready to run away from a dying world. She should be dead and buried with her husband, but instead she was running for her life, running from the dead. As they made their way toward the edge of the city, they heard gunshots in the distance.

"Oh, fuck! It's them, the army guys! They must've heard us," Alan said as they rounded a corner. They picked up their pace, behind them more gunshots rang out. Carol lagged behind. "Hurry up, Carol! They're going to catch up!" Carol slowed down and stopped all together.

"Got to catch my breath," she said through gasps. Lauren whipped around and made her way back to the old woman. Alan turned around. "Come on, guys! If they find us, they'll kill me, and probably do something worse to you!" Carol's chest hitched as she struggled for oxygen. "Leave me," she croaked. Lauren gasped. "No way am I leaving you to die!" She grabbed Carol's arm and led her toward a post office. Behind her, Alan sighed and followed.

Lauren brought Carol behind the building. Shielded on the right by a dumpster and on the left by solid brick wall, they wouldn't be easily detected. The only problem was that they would be cornered if their position was found out. Carol sat down slowly, knees popping and chest heaving. "Sorry, kids. Guess I'm not as durable as I used to be." She tried to chuckle but broke out in stifled coughs. Alan glanced at Lauren, a worried look on his face.

A moment later, they heard tires crunching gravel. He shushed Carol, who suppressed her coughing fit with difficulty. The vehicle moved by slowly, and they could make out voices coming from it. Then they heard shouts and laughter, followed by more gun shots. They waited until the noise faded away, and Alan sank to the ground.

"Where do you intend on going? Really, there is just no point. There are just going to be zombies and these assholes everywhere," he said. "I don't know. I guess out into the country, where there are less people," Lauren said.

Alan laughed. "So, you have no fucking clue where to go? You sent us out here, and we don't know what to do?"

"Well, what do you expect?" Lauren shot at him.

"When the whole world is dangerous, we can only look for safer places. I don't see you making any plans, anyway."

Alan looked astonished. "Whatever, man. I thought you had an idea of where the fuck we were headed, is all."

"Listen here, kid, I dealt with snotty boys like you when I was a teacher, so I don't need this shit-"

Carol held up a hand and silenced them. She swallowed, licked her lips, and said, "Shut up, you two. I have an idea. When I was younger, there were a lot of tornadoes coming through Pennsylvania. The government actually built a couple of shelters around the state. Stocked them full of canned goods and water and whatnot. I actually know of one, not too far from here. We could make for there." Alan crossed his arms and nodded.

Lauren looked embarrassed. They sat in silence and waited until the vehicle drove past there hiding spot again, then made their move.

It took a couple of hours before they made it to the edge of the city, which opened up into forest and farmlands. They had to be careful because there were zombies literally everywhere. They ran into a couple of them as they crossed the main street, but they easily brought them down with a bullet to the head. Carol's condition got progressively worse, and she looked paler than usual when they finally crossed the city border.

According to her, the shelter was located by the next city over, a two day hike, and that was only if they made good time. They started off following the road, keeping to the side and trying to stay hidden. As they walked, Alan told them of his struggles to stay alive. He said he was locked in his apartment building when it happened. His neighbor Ed had told him and his mother to stay inside the day before. In fact, it was the last time he saw his neighbor, or anybody else in his building, for that matter.

Alan and his mother had stayed inside for three days before she ran out of alcohol. He said she was a serious alcoholic, the abusive type that could be worse off without the stuff than when she was on it. "She finally had enough of being sober for only three days," he said, voice low. "Three days, zombies wandering the parking lot and on every floor, and she still didn't care. The booze killed her, all right." He said they'd gotten into a fight on the third day, when she was irritable due to lack of alcohol. She'd asked her own son to go out and get her a beer. Of course he refused; no person in their right mind would venture out just to get alcohol. But she said she would go and get some booze herself if her own flesh and blood wouldn't.

"That was the last time I saw her alive," he said. His voice was emotionless and flat. "She just ran out the door before I could stop her. When I finally got up enough courage to go outside and take a look myself, she'd already joined their ranks. That's when I decided to run for it."

He kicked at a rotten log as they passed it. Lauren walked up behind him. "I'm so sorry you had to put up with that," she said. "Must've been tough, to see your mother go like that." Alan shrugged. "She wasn't really much of a mother, anyway."

They made their way down the long stretch of road. The sun was now directly in the middle of the sky in the heat of the day. It wasn't so bad, considering that it was relatively cold, but when the sun beat down on them all day they had to rest in some shade or else suffer from heat stroke. Carol was worst off; her skin had gotten somewhat of sunburn and was turning scarlet. She was also breathing heavily, but managed to suppress her coughing. Lauren guessed that they were now a good way from the city, but still kept up the pace. It would not be good travelling at night.

Especially in the forest.

Especially with zombies walking around.

It was eerie walking outside near the woods. Usually one would hear a bird singing, or the chirp of some bug. Not today. The forest was dead silent and unusually dark. That's why they were apprehensive about going into it.

Not only could they get lost, but whatever waited out there could easily hide in the shadows. But finally, when the sun showed no sign of letting up, they decided to head into the shade of the trees. Lauren wiped the beads of sweat on her brow. She stepped into the shade and the temperature must have dropped ten degrees. It felt like it, at least. The forest was so thick at places that light could not stream through the leaves. Lauren turned around to look at her comrades. Alan was nervously looking around, and Carol was rubbing her white knuckles. "Spooky feeling it gives you, huh?" She whispered.

Lauren nodded and said, "I think it would be best if we don't talk so much. I'm getting a bad vibe." Alan shook his head vigorously. He clutched his gun tightly in his hands, ready to shoot at a moment's notice. Lauren started forward again, keeping close to the road but staying in the shade. Fallen logs and mossy rocks were no problem for her and Alan, but Carol was having a hard time making her way over them. Even so, they stifled their footsteps, making almost no sound.

Being in the shade was turning out to be more of a hassle than an advantage, so by the time the sun was setting, Lauren stopped walking and sighed. "Now that it's getting dark, I think we should find somewhere to sleep." Behind her, silence.

"Guys, I know you don't like the fact that it's getting dark, but-" Lauren had turned around to find no one standing behind her. She immediately began to panic. The little light she had was fading fast, and there was almost a solid darkness twenty feet away. She doubled back, searching the woods for any sign of movement. "Carol! Alan!" Where are you guys?" Her voice echoed throughout the forest. "You guys!" Her call was answered by a distressed Alan shouting, "We're over here!"Lauren whipped around and saw Alan and Carol sitting on a fallen log in a clearing a few yards away. Panting, she made her way to them.

"What the hell? Why did you leave me?" She slumped down on the log. Carol was rubbing her hands, trying to keep them warm in the chilly evening. "We were getting tired and decided to rest. We told you to stop, but I guess you didn't hear us. It's only been a minute or so.

I don't believe you didn't realize that we were gone." Lauren inhaled icy air. "I can't believe you didn't notice_ I_ was gone." Alan shifted uneasily. "Do you think it's a good idea to be out here? Isn't this the one thing we really shouldn't be doing?"

Lauren thought about it. No, they shouldn't be outside, in the dark, exposed during a zombie apocalypse. And her shouting for them hadn't helped their situation, either. She was sure she alerted a zombie or two of their presence. "No, we shouldn't be outside, but what could we do? The city wasn't safe, so we got the hell out. There is a small town ahead that I know of, but we really shouldn't travel by dark or risk getting lost."

She gazed through at the open sky through the small clearing of trees. The moon was already out, and a few stars were beginning to shine brighter. But she saw something else, too. There was smoke coming from the distance. A dim light was being cast from the city. "Guys, look at this." They followed her gaze and gasped. "They're burning down the city!" Carol said.

"I knew we had to get out of there!" Lauren dropped her eyes to the ground. "We should stay here. There are thick woods behind us, so we should hear a zombie before we see it."

The others silently agreed.

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

He woke up just as the sun was setting.

_But…. hadn't it been night time?_

His head was cloudy. His chest hurt with every breath he took. His whole body ached, and he could feel matted blood mixed with dirt and dead leaves under his head. How did he get here? Something had happened…. When he glanced to his left, he instantly remembered.

The church, the madwoman, and the zombie dog all flashed back into his memory. And Stacey. "Stacey?" She lay to his left, dried blood stuck to her shirt and her arms torn up. The zombie dog had done quite a lot of damage to them.

She moaned in sleep, or unconsciousness. How long had they been out? He grunted as he pushed himself up against the tree he was sleeping under. The area he'd stopped in didn't look familiar. He must've gone deep into the woods. His arm broke out in goose bumps from the cold air. With great effort, he propped Stacey up on the tree next to him. She shifted position and opened one eye.

"Rich… the dog…"

"It's gone now."

"I had the strangest dream about zombies. Gotta stop staying up late."

"Yeah, me too."

"Good night."

Before he could answer, she was out cold again. She mumbled something under her breath and then all he could hear was her shallow breaths. Then, he thought he heard something. It almost made him jump. He couldn't tell if it was Stacey mumbling, or someone else.

A voice off in the distance, a woman's voice, called out.

_You're just imaging things. There's no way anyone would be outside. _

But there it was again. He was sure it was a real voice. He struggled to his feet and hoisted Stacey onto his back with great effort. His muscles screamed in pain as the extra weight pushed down on him. But, he couldn't just leave her. She'd saved his life already.

"Call it even," he said as he made his way to where the voice came from.

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The city was ablaze with fire. The whole street looked like a fiery inferno as more buildings caught and the blaze spread, diminishing everything to smoldering embers.

Rick grinned at his work.

Men dashed back and forth, wielding flamethrowers and spraying down anything in their paths. A few carried tanks of gasoline and drenched cars, bikes, anything in the way.

"Burn everything, boys," Rick shouted. He was answered by their whoops of excitement. "I don't care if you find a family of kittens; I want everything reduced to ash!"

He stood right in the middle of it, right in the street. He could feel the heat of the flames on his shoulders. It was a good feeling in the night air. Someone shot past him, striking a zombie square in the head. It landed inches behind him. "Do not shoot that close to me, ever!"

He shouted at the red-head with glasses who had looted a clothing store and was carrying his spoils away. "Sorry, sir. Thought I was doing you a favor." Rick walked towards him, and he could see the nervousness in the man's eyes. He had him right where he wanted him.

"What is your name, soldier?"

The man hesitated, then said, "Michael."

Behind them, something exploded and glass shattered. Michael jumped, clothes falling out of his hands. Rick chuckled. "There's one thing you need to know, Michael. And that is, there are no favors in this world. Every man fends for himself, or else he will die. And the next time you decide to do someone a favor by shooting so close to them," Rick picked him up by the collar, "make sure it's not me you shoot at."

He tossed the man aside like garbage. He landed in the street by two zombies fleeing the fire. Michael screamed as they jumped on him. He flailed and kicked as they pinned him down. Rick was having a good time watching this, when a burst of gunfire rang out.

The zombies dropped to the street like sacks of potatoes.

"Who the fuck-"

Rick whipped around and saw Jason holding the smoking gun. "I didn't think you saw those zombies there. I was doing you a _favor_," he said. Rick scowled. This guy thought he could do anything he wanted, just because he was good with a gun and built like a tank. Rick knew he had smarts and talent over this guy, but something about his attitude made him feel that he'd be a problem in the future. He made a mental note to keep a close watch on Jason.

"Yes, right. I didn't see them." Jason reloaded his gun and said, "Yeah, and I'm sure you're very sorry that the guy that saved your life almost died because of you." They glared at each other, the fire casting shadows off of Jason's sweaty face. Michael scrambled up and pushed past them, mumbling thanks to Jason and leaving his spoils on the ground. "Just came back to report that almost all of the east side is on fire.

We lost a couple of men when a rather large group of undead ambushed us at a warehouse." Rick nodded and replied, "Yes, all tragic casualties of war. But you well know that to get rid of the massive amount of zombies we had to burn down the city, right?" Jason scowled. "Sure, whatever. " A zombie launched itself out of the shadows of an ally and flew towards Jason. He aimed his gun and splattered its head all over the pavement without blinking.

The night was filled with the sound of fire and gunshots, men were screaming either from being eaten alive by zombies or from the excitement of burning. As all of the action took place, Jason and Rick stood in the center of it unharmed. Rick sighed. "It's been a long night for all. You look tired, Why not catch the next truck back to base and take a rest?" Jason eyed him warily. This man had just said 'a long night for all' and all he'd done was stand around and smile at the destruction. His face was clean and unscathed; while Jason's was dirty with soot and scraped by the fight he'd been in while raiding the warehouse.

He hated this guy with all of his heart, but a rest sounded good to him. He lowered his gun as Rick smiled. "Thattaboy. Now go home and get some sleep." Jason spit to one side and walked off. Rick chuckled to himself as he saw the tired man slink to the truck, which was filling with more and more people as the evening progressed. The plan had originally been to raid all of the important buildings and get the hell out, but with the new information he'd gotten about the large infestation, he couldn't risk having a whole zombie haven just a few miles away from base camp. It wouldn't hurt to kill the remaining survivors, either.

All of his men didn't know this, but a virus was the cause of the whole mess. Survivors could bring it into the compound, risking the lives of his men and, especially, himself. He looked around once again, another wave of satisfaction washing over him. Zombies were on fire, running left and right, being shot down by snipers. A couple of survivors tried to flee a falling building, also being shot down. He felt like he ruled the world.

He commanded them all, and things were going as planned. Except for that Jason guy. Rick, a forty-three year old, balding in places, but still strong and very smart. Jason, a twenty-seven year old, dark brown hair and strong as an ox. Their heads were bound to butt, especially because Jason questioned his power.

He would learn, though.

So far, he'd only had to 'teach' a couple of men, and each time made sure they'd never doubt him again.

He strolled down the street, whistling with a bounce in his step, as a building collapsed behind him.


	9. Chapter 9

-9-

"...there shall be a resurrection of the dead, both of the just and unjust." Acts 24:15

Jason slumped in the truck bed, packed in with at least twenty other men, all tired and wounded.

Their faces were covered in dirt. One man moaned, sweat and blood running down his neck. His arm was mangled, and he was growing paler by the minute. Jason turned to a man on his right, a tall guy with a buzz cut and a busted lip named Jay.

"Do you think he'll be all right?" He motioned to the severely wounded man. Jay shook his head.

"We just got back from an apartment complex filled with zombies. We were going into a room, and we found a whole family. All were zombies, even the little girl…"

Jay trailed off for a minute, pausing before going on. "He used to have a little girl, you know."

Jason glanced at the bleeding man. He had stopped groaning, but was now rocking back and forth.

"He snapped or something. Told us we couldn't kill the girl, told us we'd have to go through him first. Poor guy, he's delusional. Guessed he couldn't handle it, so we tried to take him outside… He ended up being torn up by that little girl. The whole time he was crying out a girl's name… I think it was Amy."

The rest of the men sat silently, heads low. "You all were on that mission?" Jay nodded. "This place is just so wrong. If I didn't know better, I'd think those zombies were using the fire to an advantage. They cornered a whole squad and mutilated them in a burning building."

Suddenly, the man stopped rocking and let out a cry. More like a shriek, but they all knew what was happening. "Give me your gun, I'll do it," a guy to his right said. The shrieking man screamed again, and said, "No! I'm fine!" He was beginning to froth at the mouth, white stuff mixed in with pink.

Blood.

It was different for everyone, some people just fall over and that's it. Others go violently. The gun was loaded and pointed at the man.

The trigger was pulled, and they all went silent.

"Get him out off of the truck," Jay said.

They slid the body to the edge and threw him over. The zombies were instantly on him, coming out from the alleys and shadows. Although it was such a tragic way to die, none of them looked upset. Tired, but not sad at all. Finally, Jay broke the silence.

"Where were you at?" Jason leaned back and looked at the sky, which was slowly filling with smoke and ash. "We were storming a warehouse. It was almost as bad as what you went through. A lot of guys died." The truck passed the remains of an earlier burn; a whole vehicle now reduced to a pile of blackened steel and charred leather. The smell was horrible, but it masked the smell of decay, which was even worse. He'd been smelling it for weeks.

The truck flew down Main Street, only to find a dead end. The fire had blocked the road and now they couldn't get through there. There was a one-way road that branched off of it and the driver made for that. "Hold on tight, you guys," the driver shouted. He swerved to the right to avoid a pack of zombies, slammed the brake, and backed up over them. There was a sickening crunch of bones under the tires. All the men except Jason cheered out.

"Good one, Klipspringer!" Joey Klipspringer leaned out of the window and gave the thumbs up. "Just hang on there, it's gonna be at least an hour before we hit the checkpoint." The engine started and the truck rolled over the bodies and turned onto the other road. Jason suddenly felt nauseous.

"So, how come you're the only one from your group to return to base?" Jay had a suspicious look in his eyes. "Hey, man. Don't get any ideas. Rick sent me here. Right after he almost let Michael die." "Shit, Mikey? That coward was supposed to be on scout duty. Don't tell me he was swiping stuff again," Jay said as he stuffed some chewing tobacco in his mouth. Jason nodded. "Well, serves him right, the little rat bastard. Fucker stole my last can of dip."

Once the truck reached the border of the city and was out on the open road, the warmth that the fire had brought now was gone, leaving all the men shivering and cold. Jason looked back and saw the flames coming off of the buildings, the smoke pouring into the air in masses. It was the only light source for miles. The rest of the forest was dark, and he didn't like it one bit. Just as Klipspringer had said, it took almost an hour to reach the checkpoint, a small town south of the city.

They used the gas station there frequently when going back and forth between the city and the base. Klipspringer brought the truck to a stop and hopped out onto the ground. He walked around the truck and opened the gas cap, walked back around, and disappeared into darkness.

"Hey, wanna play a little trick on Joey?" A guy across from Jason asked. He hadn't asked it to anyone it particular, but no one answered. "Aw, come on, you pussies." He jumped out of the truck bed and walked off in the opposite direction, gun drawn and at the ready. Klipspringer returned with two tanks of gas. He began emptying the contents of one into the truck. Behind him, they could here subtle footsteps. Then, silence. Klipspringer finished off the tank and handed another guy the extra gas.

They all jumped when they heard the gun go off.

Once, twice, many times rapid fire. "What the hell!" Jason heard the man scream.

Jay quickly jumped out of the truck bed, carrying a flashlight. Jason and the other men followed.

The town they'd used as a checkpoint hadn't been infested with zombies before. The few that were left had been destroyed when they first decided to make it an official midway. But now, even with the dim light of the flashlights, they could see there was more than just a few. Hundreds. All were waiting across the road. Had they sensed them already? Or had they been oblivious the whole time? Jason hoped it had been the latter of the two.

The man who decided to be a prankster turned out to be one of the greenhorns named Phillip. Of course it was the new guys that had to fuck everything up. It always was. He'd walked a good way away from the truck and was now standing by a building. Jason really couldn't tell because it was so dark. He ran with at least three other men, all the while shooting down zombies. Each zombie that fell had three others take its place.

The fact was that there weren't enough men to bring down the huge infestation of the town. Where had they all been before? They'd crossed paths with the town on more than one occasion, and not one time had he seen more than four zombies at once. They could have only been there a couple of days. Jason tried to remember the last group to pass by the city. He ran up beside Jay. "Hey, man. Do you know who was on the last ride from base?"

Jay shot at a zombie with no arms, pegging it right in the head. Congealed blood oozed out the back as it toppled to the ground. Two more leapt out of some nearby bushes, catching him off guard. Jason took both down before they could even open their rotting jaws.

They landed with a thud on top of one another. Jay glanced at Jason with a bemused look on his face. "What do you wanna know that for?" He spit out the tobacco he'd been chewing and continued running. Jason ran up next to him. "Just tell me." All around was chaos. Some guys had gone down and were being eaten alive; others had been caught in crossfire and wounded. Zombies were everywhere. Even though the question seemed out of place, he had to know.

"The last truck had only a couple guys in it, you know, retrieval. Probably bringing back the food and medicine that were found. Also a couple of guys went to get more grenades. Joey, Paul, Simon, and Rick went."

Jason stopped running.

Rick.

Rick had sent them on a suicide mission. He must've known the city was overrun with the dead. He'd been through it before any of them. He'd sent them to get rid of as many undead as they could before he himself, Rick the prick, had to return. He'd especially sent Jason, knowing he might die.

"_It's been a long night for all. You look tired, Why not catch the next truck back to base and take a rest?"_

"_Thattaboy."_

And Jason had stupidly gone, not even questioning the sudden change in tone. He felt like such an idiot. Jay had already gone ahead, and had taken down at least ten zombies while Jason stood, steaming with anger. Jay was in a death grip by one particularly swollen zombie, and he was using the butt of his gun to smash at its head. He let out a roar as his gun sunk deep into its skull. The gun pushed right through it, out the other side.

"Zombie Kabob, anyone?" He screamed.

He yanked the gun out of the zombie with a wet sucking sound and started to wipe off the bits of flesh and tissue that stuck to it with his shirt. "Jay, we have to get out of here. All of us." Jay finished polishing his weapon and looked at him, eyebrows raised. "Why, Jason? Are you that much of a wimp?" Jason casually walked up to him, grabbed his arm, and held him steady. He meant business.

"Rick set us up. Why do you think you all are going home when all of you came from the same mission? Not all of you guys are injured. So why?" Jay shrugged, or at least tried to, but Jason gripped him harder.

"Doesn't seem like Rick, I guess. Only if you're almost dead do you get to go back to base." Jason nodded and let go of his arm. "Rick isn't telling us something. He sent us out here, knowing we'd all probably die. He's been through the town before. He knows there are too many zombies for just twenty tired guys. Well, I'm not dying. Fuck him, I'm out. You coming with?" Jay considered for a moment.

"Yeah, man. You have a point." Jason nodded as a zombie lurched towards them, carrying someone's arm. Jay killed it effortlessly.

The sounds of guns and screaming had died down, and now all he could see was a couple of guys in a field that were lined up, taking down wave after wave of zombies. They made their way to the only five men who were around.

No, four.

One of them hadn't seen a lone zombie sneak up behind him. It was gruesome.

No one stopped to save him; they all had their hands full with the barrage slowly coming closer. So, the poor man was dragged off into the darkness. His screams only lasted a couple of seconds, and then after a minute he reemerged from the shadows, lurching toward his comrades. Jason and Jay sprinted toward the battle. They passed a burned down building. It had once been a church. Jason wondered what had happened to it in the last three days since he'd seen it. He wondered how all the zombies could suddenly appear in the small town. Jay screamed out to the men. "Over here!" Not one of them looked up from shooting.

As the horde of zombies closed in, the shooting suddenly seemed useless. Then the men were no more. Dead bodies covered them; a pile of rotting meat had taken their place. The screams were muffled by the zombies. Then the undead turned their attentions to Jason and Jay. "We have to split, now," Jason said. they started running in the other direction. Toward the forests edge. The zombies sprinted after them.

Not lumbered, not lurched, but _sprinted_.

Muscles that couldn't possibly do that, let alone _work_, were being pumped. Parts of the body that should've rotted off long before clung to each other somehow. Vocal chords that could never be used after death made noises no human could. The zombies were quicker than before, he was sure of it. They darted into the woods, rushing past trees and trying not to trip on roots. They could stop and fight, but it would be foolish.

Two lone guys fighting maybe a hundred zombies. The odds weren't good. Jason found it hard to stay close to Jay and to not lose him, the trees being the big issue in free movement, the dark in sight. They ran until the footsteps behind them faded, and kept running until there was no noise in the forest except for their own ragged breaths. Then they sank to their knees. They sat for a moment, catching their breaths.

"When… I… get…back…I'll fucking kill him…" Jay wheezed. He was talking about Rick, of course. Jason didn't say anything. Instead, he stood up and listened. He thought he had heard a twig snapping somewhere while Jay was cursing Rick.

"Shut up for one second." Jay stopped moving, stopped breathing, it seemed. There was no sound, no rustling of leaves in the wind, no crickets chirping, just silence. Eerie silence. The kind that usually means you're screwed in the movies. Then it happened.

It was almost comical.

Things started falling out of the trees all around them. Just falling, like giant acorns or something. But the trees weren't oaks, and the things falling all around them weren't acorns. They were twitching, emaciated rodents, commonly known as squirrels. Undead squirrels. A lot of them, too. Two of the creatures had landed right on Jay's shoulder. From the sound of things, it wasn't pretty. Jay let out a shrill scream.

"They're biting my ears off!" He batted at them in the dark, sending one flying off and hitting a tree with a _squish_. Replacing that one were four more, and he went reeling into the forest, the rodents biting and scratching him. Jason used his gun to bat at the creatures that surrounded him. He couldn't really see them, (except, were their eyes glowing?) but he could hear the scurrying feet on the dead leaves littering the forest floor.

He swung his gun and it connected with two bodies, and like a sick game of golf they were sent flying.

"Four!"

Jay was out somewhere in the forest, somewhere to his right, screaming and running into trees. His screams died down as he went deeper into the forest, blinded by pain and shock. Then there was silence again as the rodents gathered around him. They didn't make a sound. In the streaks of moonlight spilling through the treetops, he could see their tails twitching. In his mind he saw them all jumping as one onto his body, scraping and clawing his flesh, stripping his bones. That just made him pissed. "I'm not going to be taken down by _squirrels_. Fuck that!" He lifted his boots and crushed some under his feet.

The bones didn't crunch, more like their bodies just caved in. Several ran towards him, only to be met with the same fate. He continued the small-scale massacre until only one was left, but out of sight. He was sweating and covered in squirrel blood as he glanced around for the last one. He could hear it scurrying above him.

Then like a stone it dropped, dropped right onto his head. He screamed and yanked it off, but not before some sort of black fluid gushed out of its side. He gave the squirming thing in his hand a hard squeeze as its intestines and fluids ran out of its mouth onto the ground, flattening it out.

It reminded him of squeezing a tube of toothpaste.

Then, when it was over, he threw up. After a few dry heaves, he got back up on his feet. He knew what he had to do. He was going to kill that asshole Rick if it killed him. Hopefully he wouldn't be killed trying to get there by foot, not by the zombies. He didn't want to go that way. It was a shame, really, that Jay had run off. It would've been nice having someone to talk to.

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

"What the hell was that?" Alan whispered hoarsely.

He'd been jumpy since the sun had set, and now was reacting to every subtle sound the forest made. This, to his credit, _was_ a little alarming due to the absolute silence. Lauren felt drained of energy. And she thought _teaching_ was tiring. This had a whole new meaning to the word.

"What I wouldn't kill for a hot bath and a comfy bed," she sighed. Carol, who was leaning against a thick tree trunk, laughed. "Honey, what I wouldn't kill for a good old heat pad and a nice cup of tea." Alan shook his head and crossed his arms.

"You both are being stupid. What we need is a big steak, mashed potatoes, an Uzi, and hey, while we're at it, throw in a free trip to Disneyland. I'm sure Mickey Mouse will greet us. Probably to tear us apart, but hey, my childhood dreams will be realized. That's good enough for me."

Then he said something about women under his breath and turned his back to them. Lauren felt the need to go over there and punch him, but she was adult and she had to control herself. This was no time to act childish, and she told Alan so herself. "Whatever," he mumbled.

Then, somewhere far out in the forest, they heard a scream. A single, blood-curdling, horrifying wail. Alan was instantly by Lauren and Carol's side. "Figured you'd sit by the women, huh?" Carol said mockingly. Alan didn't say anything, but Lauren imagined he was rolling his eyes right about now. The scream lasted a few seconds and died out.

"I just can't take this anymore. We should've stayed in the city and been burned. It would just be easier," Alan groaned.

Lauren slapped him at the back of his head.

"What was that—"

Lauren shushed him. "I thought I heard something."

As they all fell silent, the woods behind them were filled with snapping twigs and rustling leaves. "Holy shit!" Alan whispered, his voice crackling. "What the fuck is that?!" The snapping and rustling continued to come closer. Lauren stood up and drew her gun. Carol and Alan got up and stood behind her, backing away from the noise. "Who's there?" The rustling stopped.

There was a moment of silence, and then, "I won't hurt you. I'm not— not one of those things."

It was a man's voice. Deep, raspy. "Where are you? Show yourself!" It was a dumb question because it was almost pitch black outside. She whispered to Alan, "Open my backpack and turn the flashlight on." The footsteps came closer, slowly. When Alan flicked the flashlight on, the man was standing a few yards in the forest. All they could make out was his outline and eyes. "That's better," he said.

A middle-aged black man walked out of the trees and into the small clearing. He was carrying a woman slung over his shoulders. He had multiple wounds, most of them tiny scratches, but one mean looking gash on his forehead and a swollen lip. He gently set the unconscious woman down and then wiped his sweaty brow, cold as it was. "What's your name and why are you walking around in the forest?" Alan said, trying to sound brave but coming off more or less like a scared kitten.

The black man sat down on the ground and leaned to the side. "My name is Richard. That's Stacey. And we just got served by a town of zombies and an undead dog. Nice to meet ya."

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

"What?" Lauren asked. Her face looked utterly horrified in the dim glow of the flashlight.

"You said a town of zombies and an undead _dog_?"

Richard nodded slowly, looking dazed and not completely there. Carol turned to her. "I didn't know animals could be zombies, too." Lauren shrugged. "Oh yeah. Animals can be zombies. And let me tell you from experience, they're faster than human zombies."

That put everyone's nerves on high alert, especially Alan's. The woman, Stacey, stirred next to Richard and slowly opened her eyes. "Where am I?" She sat up and stared at Richard, who looked like he hadn't slept in a week. "Richard, where are we?" He glanced at her and then at Lauren, Carol, and Alan.

"Right after you crashed you fainted. All the zombies were on our tails so I dragged you into the forest. I think maybe it's been two days, I'm not sure." Stacey slowly studied each of them, and then said, "And who are they?"

Alan stepped up and said, "Don't worry, he just met us, too. I'm Alan."

He stuck his hand out but it was ignored. Lauren and Carol introduced themselves, also. Stacey continued to stare at Richard. "By the way, while we're on the subject, did you scream out there in the woods?" Carol said, finally breaking the awkward silence. Richard shook his head.

"I thought one of you screamed." The color quickly drained from their faces, partly because of the cold weather, and partly because _someone _had made that noise close by, and whatever had caused that could still be out there, waiting.

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

After all the commotion had died down, after they'd all gone to sleep except for Lauren who was taking watch, Carol lay shivering on the cold ground, feeling old. She'd never actually _felt_ old before. When she'd first met Lauren, she was sure she could hold her own against the elements. But she was slowly deteriorating, slowly losing sense and feeling. She rubbed at her numb hands again. She'd told them it was arthritis, but it was something more. She couldn't feel them anymore. And it was slowly spreading up her arms, to her shoulders. She knew because it started with a burning sensation, then the numbing.

_You've caught a bug, is all_, she told herself. _A nasty bug. There's no need to worry_.

She suppressed another cough, her throat dry and sore. It must have been because it was so chilly. She'd caught a cold. But every time she closed her eyes, she saw herself on the ground of the convenience store, a limp zombie covering her. She hadn't been bitten, but could she have been….

No, she wouldn't think of it. And if so, wouldn't she have turned by now? She sat up. She couldn't sleep anyway, so she got up and sat next to Lauren. The young woman turned to her and smiled. She reminded Carol a lot of her own Granddaughter, an independent woman with a good head on her shoulders.

"You know, I sometimes think about why we fight. I mean, what's the point? We all die someday, why not give up?" Lauren suddenly asked.

Carol sighed and placed a hand on her shoulder.

"It seems silly now, it seems useless to survive, but we are all driven by an inner voice. Survival instinct has been with us since the beginning of time. We don't know why, but we feel the need to be alive, no matter if it means living out a nightmare in a hellish world. Sometimes I wonder myself why an old crone would want to make it in a world like this. What place do I have? But then, the small voice tells me to keep going, to not lag behind, because that would mean giving up. And I'll be damned if I give up. Never have, and never will. Just promise me something."

Lauren looked up, looked into Carol's eyes. "What?"

"If I succumb, if by some chance of fate, then I want you to promise me—"

"No, I won't do it. I can't." Carol held Lauren's chin and made her look into her eyes. Lauren was crying.

"God has a time and place for all of us, and if I go, then I know it is God's will. Listen to me: If I start to become one, kill me. No matter if I'm still myself. I don't want to die and become one of them. Promise me that. Promise me you won't let that happen. I can feel God calling me. It may be for the best. I'm old, Lauren, and this world isn't for the elderly."

Then Carol got up and went back to her spot, laid down, and went to sleep. Lauren watched her chest slowly rising and falling all night. She watched her until the sun slowly rose into the sky. She watched until she fell asleep.

In the morning, Carol didn't wake up.

As herself, at least.


	10. Chapter 10

-note- there may be some mistakes in this. please excuse them.

-10-

There are more dead people than living. And their numbers are increasing. The living are getting rarer.- EUGENE IONESCO

It was a beautiful day at the beach. People were lounging on the sand and swimming in the water. The gulls were circling and dive bombing a group of teenage girls. They screamed and ran about, sending chips flying and with them the seagulls in a ravenous fury.

Waves lapped up against the shore, frothing with every turn. Lauren stood at the very edge of the beach looking out, gazing at the beautiful ocean. She put her first foot onto the hot white sand; a warm breeze blew across her tanned face. The air smelled salty from the water, which was deep blue and shimmering in the sunlight. She walked down the beach with a smile on her face. Suddenly, the scene warped. She was running down the beach screaming.

What had begun to happen seemed surreal. The sky clouded up; waves grew higher than twenty feet. The ocean started to gather itself in, seeming to drain as the water was sucked back and built up. A gigantic wave pulled backward and was higher than any building she'd ever seen. She was screaming, but nothing came out, all sound gone. It was deathly silent, like all the noise had been sucked back with the water. The people still laughed and lounged on the beach, oblivious to the horrible spectacle before them.

"Run! Go, please! Can't you see?" Lauren screeched in vain, and flailed her arms around like a lunatic.

Still no one saw her, and the wave blocked out the sun. What came next was absolute darkness. The wave must have hit shore, but she felt no pain. She did not feel the crushing force of water come down on her and collapse her body. It was just darkness. She felt water around herself, and she did not know how she was oriented. Although she'd used all her breath screaming and had not inhaled air before she went under, it felt like her lungs were filled.

She did not need to breathe; she was suspended in the solid darkness, silence. Cold. Then, as quickly as it happened, the water pulled back. She was lying in the sand. Standing up on shaky legs, she gaped in horror at the twisted, mangled bodies scattered on the beach, including the bodies of Alan, Rich, Stacey, and herself. Seagulls dove now, not for chips, but for scraps of decaying meat from the bloated bodies.

Standing amongst the graveyard was Carol, grey and blue with wispy white locks falling in strands off of her decaying head. She smiled and pulled yellowed dentures out of rotting gums.

Then, she opened her mouth wide and—

Screamed.

Screaming.

Someone was screaming.

Lauren shot up from the cold, damp ground, eyes wide but blurry and unfocused. She wiped at them with the back of her hand. Alan was next to Stacey, who was screaming her head off, much like a police siren.

Alan was struggling with someone… an old, wrinkled, pallid woman in her late fifties.

Carol.

Except her skin wasn't so much pallid as _blue_, wrinkled skin ice cold and sagging off of her cheeks. Her body had been freezing long after she'd died. That's when Lauren remembered; she was supposed to kill Carol before she turned. She'd failed her, and not only that, the old woman had died outside, on the cold, hard ground, during a zombie apocalypse. It was no way for anyone, but especially an old, nice woman, to go.

And now, well, her corpse was trying it's best to take off a chunk of Stacey's face. Alan was trying his best to fight back the zombie. And Rich? Rich was nowhere to be seen. Gone. Lauren stumbled to Carol's corpse and gripped its bony shoulders.

The zombie turned its head around and stared straight at her. Eyes only whites. Mouth gaping, lips purple. Cold. Dead. Alan clenched his fist and landed a hard punch right on the zombie's skull with a loud _crack_, but the zombie didn't falter. It released its grip on Stacey and advanced to Lauren, who'd let go of its shoulders and was backing away to her gun. The zombie was slow at first, but then it began to pick up its pace with a look of immense hunger across its lifeless face. Lauren backed up until she felt her foot hit the gun. Not taking her eyes off of the charging, horrifying mixture of her friend now turned monster, she bent down and felt for her weapon.

Grabbed it, lifted, and pulled the trigger.

_Click_. _Click click_.

Empty.

The zombie was now a few feet in front of her. She threw her useless gun at the zombie and missed, backing away. _This is it, you're going to die by your friend_, Lauren thought. _Your friend, who begged you to kill her before she became this_. Lauren closed her eyes and waited for the cold corpse to fall on her, listened as Stacey screamed, but also heard something else. Twigs snapping. She opened her eyes in time to see Richard crashing through the woods, firing round after round from the shotgun as he jumped over roots and tried to keep from tripping. Carol's body was slammed with three solid hits, dark red blood oozed out of the wounds on her chest and legs. The zombie lost balance and toppled over, inches from her face. She heard the bones break, the frail elderly frame shattering, the sound of skull cracking. And then it was over. Lauren stood there, chest heaving, eyes wide.

Stacey was crying and shaking. Alan was looking at the ground, staring. Richard just stood there for a moment, and then said, "Come on. We can't stay here after all of that noise."

And without saying a word, they got up, made their way toward the road, and didn't go back into the forest.

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The sky was covered with dark clouds, the sun was hidden and the air was cold. They all walked in silence, keeping alert and ready, but all somber and tired. Richard was the only one who tried at conversation, only to be met with a grunt or a nod.

The main road had started to turn east, and now they were walking along a dirt road, keeping directly south. Richard and Stacey shot nervous glances at each other.

Alan noticed their glances.

"What? Is there something maybe we should know?"

Richard cleared his throat. "Remember when we said we came from a town filled with zombies and an undead dog? Well, right now we're heading straight for it."

As if on cue, they saw a sign on the side of the road that read "Welcome to Milltown."

"Aw, man! Come on. It's not bad enough that we had to sleep outside in the woods, possibly with zombies lurking there, but now we're heading to a freaking city crawling with the bastards!"

Alan screamed, pulling his hair and basically throwing a tantrum any two-year old would be proud of. Rich ignored his outburst and continued.

"I suppose you folks are headed past the city, but where?"

Lauren sighed. "There were supposed to be shelters stocked with food and water somewhere over there. We were going for that."

Richard shook his head. "Nope, sorry to say this, but there ain't nothing over there but farmland and dead cattle. And, from what we've seen," he motioned to Stacey, who nodded solemnly," a town that was once filled with nothing but hicks."

They all stopped walking, standing in the middle of the dirt road, bordered by long grass now instead of forest. Now they had no plan, they had slept outside in hopes of reaching safety and were now without a course of action.

"What about the other direction?" Richard interjected.

Alan and Lauren shook their heads and stared at him with a defeated look. "No, man. There was a city back there, but it was too overrun with zombies, and anyway, it was burned down last night." Stacey creased her brow in a look of confusion.

"What? How did the whole city burn down?"

"A lot of jackasses decided to douse the whole thing and kill anyone they could find in the process."

They all went silent again. Then, a screech erupted at the other end of the road.

Up ahead, a few yards down, they saw movement.

A figure.

"Everyone, hide in the tall grass. Those of you with guns, get them ready," Rich said.

They ducked into the tall grass, held themselves close to the ground, except for Rich, who was kneeling and keeping an eye off in the distance. They could hear noises, faint but definitely voices. Wait, not voices. Just sounds, animalistic screeches. As Lauren held herself to the ground, Richard's eyes grew wide.

"They're zombies, all right. And a lot of them. Not as many as I've seen before, but too many for us to take down. Maybe if we keep quiet they will pass us by."

Alan's voice cracked as he said, "What are they doing, man? Are they coming over here?"

Richard was quiet for a moment and then, "They 're slowly heading this way." Lauren heard Alan intake a breath sharply, but she was surprised to hear him sobbing.

"We're gonna fucking die, man. That's just it. We're dead meat."

His cries were becoming louder as he talked. Richard looked sharply at Alan.

"Maybe, if you manned up and kept your noise down, then maybe they won't find us. Listen to me, boy. What would your father think of you?" That's when Alan lost it. He sat up, tears streaming down his face, nostrils flared.

"You have no right! You don't know my father, and guess what? Neither do I! So don't go on, telling me this "what would daddy think" shit. I had no father, and I might as well have had no mother. Fuck you, man. Fuck you!" He was screaming now, his face turning red.

Richard glanced down the road, panic in his eyes now. "Would you keep your voice down? They could've heard you, and then what? Then we'd all be fucked. I think you should stop this little pity-party you're holding for yourself, and start thinking straight. You know what, kid? I had no father, either. I had four little brothers I had to raise on my own, 'cause my momma was out working to support us. And you know what? I didn't have pity for myself; I owned up to the responsibility and made the best of it. So right now, be responsible and _shut your mouth_."

Alan's tear-streaked face was drawn, and he sat silent. Then, out of nowhere, he yelped.

And again, and again.

"What the hell. Son, I just told you to shut up." Rich was sweating now, looking toward the zombies.

Alan was grimacing. "I'm sorry! It's one of my tics! I can't help it."

Then he screamed again. Lauren rushed to his side and clamped her hand over his mouth. Another muffled yell erupted from him. "What? How can you not help it?" Richard asked, staring at him. Stacey started trembling.

"He has Tourettes, Rich. It's a neuropsychiatric disorder, characterized by motor and phonic tics. He can't help it. I'm guessing it's because of the extreme fear and anger he's feeling. Can you try to suppress them until the zombies leave?"

New tears were sliding down his cheeks and wetting Lauren's hand. Alan shook his head. Through the tics, he said in a muffled voice, "I've been holding it in for a day now, I have to." Stacey sat up from her spot on the ground now, too. She peered down the road. The zombies stopped moving and were standing, silently. Waiting. Listening. "You've chosen a great time to let loose," she said, trying to sound sarcastic but coming off frightened and nervous. Alan kept yelping, but Lauren held her hand firmly in place. Stacey turned to Lauren and stared deeply at her.

Then, she grabbed her gun and pointed it at Alan's head.

"What the hell are you doing with that?" Lauren asked, astonished.

"He's a liability. Dead weight. He'll bring us down in the long run. Maybe we can stop his tics now, but the more he holds them in, the worse off we'll be. We can't have him near us, he's a dinner bell. We're lucky the zombies haven't noticed yet."

Rich, although his face looked otherwise, said calmly and slowly, "Stacey, you don't know what you're doing. I think the motorcycle crash hit you a little too hard, you're not thinking clearly. Put down the gun, and we can discuss this."

Alan's eyes were wide and he continued to tic. Lauren was appalled. Stacey kept her gun raised, locked on to Alan. "No, I'm thinking clearer than ever. This is about survival, Rich, and I will do whatever it takes to stay alive. It's either I kill him now, or we all die. The shot will alert the zombies to our position, but I'm sure we can outrun them. Now, Lauren, if you will just move out of—"

Lauren's eyes narrowed as she stared at Stacey."No, I won't let you kill him. You'll have to kill me first." She leaned in front of Alan, eyes set.

Stacey lowered her gun. "I'm not going to kill one of my own, Lauren. You all, you don't know half of what I know. It's so frightening it'll make you piss your pants. But I'm determined not to die, whatever the cost is."

Lauren stared at Stacey. "One of your own? What the hell are you talking about? You're crazy, Stacey. Maybe that crash did do something to your head. Alan is a human being, he _is_ one of us!"

A breeze rustled the tall grass they were hiding behind. The zombies were lumbering about again, coming slowly closer. Stacey raised the gun again, now pointing at Lauren's head, and her finger moved slightly. Rich saw the movement and grabbed Stacey, but not before the gun went off. Rich and Stacey fought over the gun as someone cried out in pain.

"Give me the gun, Stacey!" Stacey rolled to her side and punched Rich in the face.

"No! I liked you, Rich, but you're oblivious! All of you!"

Rich grabbed her arm with his free hand and held the gun in the other. He twisted her wrist and pinned her arm to the ground. She gasped and punched at his stomach. He didn't seem to notice, and now she was fully pinned on the ground. But then, she kicked him in the groin. He yelped and held his wounded member. She screamed out and started laughing crazily, pried the gun from Rich's hand and stood up.

What she saw must've been bad, for the color drained from her face.

Then, she raised the gun, put in her mouth and pulled the trigger.

Blood erupted from the wound in the back of her head. Her face was obliterated and a bloody mess of tissue and bone.

Her body stayed standing for a brief moment before collapsing onto the ground. Alan had stopped ticking, but now he was clutching a growing dark red spot on his shoulder. Lauren was crying as the blood poured out of the wound. Rich had knocked Stacey out of the way in time to miss killing Lauren, but the bullet had hit its intended target. The zombies were dashing to the source of the commotion.

"Oh, man. That hurts." Alan gritted his teeth and held the damp spot.

His shirt was soaked with his own blood.

"Come on, I know it hurts, but we gotta move," Rich gasped as he and Lauren took hold of Alan. They dragged him away from the spot and away from the oncoming zombies.

"We're never going to make it. We're going too slowly, they'll catch up!" Lauren said as they pulled him onto the road.

Rich glanced back and saw a large group of zombies, maybe fifty or more, surging towards them.

_Fast_, he thought_. Faster than before. How could that be? _

Alan groaned as they picked up the pace, jostling him as they ran. Lauren grunted under the weight. The zombies gained. They were closing in on the trio as they, almost comically, dragged Alan down the dirt road. Then, right in front of them, about seven trucks and two humvees were rolling down the dirt road.

"We're saved!" gasped Rich, exhausted. Alan rolled his head up to look at the trucks.

"No, we're not. We're basically fucked either way."

Then he passed out.

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The city and its inhabitants, alive and undead, were now reduced to a smoldering pile of ruin.

All in all, the losses of about seventy-five men were mere annoyances in the vast scheme of things.

Not much of a loss, rather a minor setback. Rick was pleased, but that wouldn't last too long. He knew that. As they wrapped up and loaded ammo, medicine, and food into the trucks, his mind was working on another problem; how to deal with all the other unruly sheep in his huge flock. He'd gotten rid of Jason, his biggest concern, but there were others. He could not be questioned; would not. There was no room for error, and he would silence all who dared to step in front of his future.

Because once the first sheep stepped out of line, the rest would follow. And where would that leave him? Alone, starving, and fighting for his life against an army of undead? No, he would not do that ever again.

He'd started off weak, but look at him now. He was building an empire, using only his head and a couple of unquestioning survivors to do the dirty work. All was well. He just had to keep them scared and moving. When the loading was finished, his troops grouped in the hummers and trucks and only when Rick himself got seated did the line move out. Behind them, the city continued to burn down, although much of it was already gone.

Rick picked up the radio handle and pressed a button, then spoke into it. "Attention, soldiers. You did very well tonight, and I'm sure you are all very hungry and tired. When we get back, we will have a celebration dinner!"

He heard the cheers coming from the men in the trucks. "On a side note, please remember to sterilize all articles of clothing and to go to the clinic to treat wounds immediately. Fail to do so and the consequences will be dire. That is all." Rick set the radio down and leaned back. He smiled to himself about the fact that Jason had fallen right into his plan, unwittingly. Not only did he get rid of his biggest problem, but he and the other group would have greatly diminished the number of zombies in Milltown, the checkpoint. But his smile faltered when he thought of how bad of an infestation the small town had.

Compared to the city, it was hugely overrun. The problem there was not simply the fact that it was so dangerous, but because the zombies hadn't been there four days ago. They had moved, and probably would move again.

This was bad news.

Rick settled in his seat and closed his eyes. He fell asleep with the image of the burning city in his mind.

Someone was shaking him.

"What is it?" He said groggily.

The driver was concerned. "Sir, the trucks ahead have run into something. Body bags up ahead, and a lot of them, too."

It took Rick a minute to recognize the term "body bags" as the undead. He sat up straight and asked, "So, how are they handling it?"

The driver looked confused for a second, but then the radio chirped. "Permission to fire,over."

Rick grabbed the radio and said, "Permission approved. Kill all of them."

Silence, and then, "Sir, there are three civilians out here… one of them, male, is all bloodied up. With him are a black male and a white female, over." Rick thought for a second.

"Put them in one of the hummers. Then, open fire."

"Yes, sir. Over and out."

The gunshots rang out as the men opened fire. And, although his vision was obscured, he could see bodies dropping one by one. After a few minutes, all was quiet. The trucks rolled on, and they drove unmolested for another half hour before passing through Milltown.

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Alan, Rich, and Lauren were shoved hastily into one of the hummers. Alan landed on his wounded shoulder and cried out.

"Aw, shut your yap, pansy."

Lauren looked around at the driver, an older guy with his shirt off and who was smoking a cigar.

"You won't know pain like I've known it. That's just a scratch, boy." He looked in his rear-view mirror at Alan and chuckled.

The hummer was basically gutted except for the driver and passenger seat, in which a stern-looking man sat, eyes cold and calculative. In the back sat six guys , all carrying guns. They leered at Lauren and some looked disapprovingly at Alan. There were two black soldiers who just stared at Rich.

"So, what have you girls been up to?" The muscular black man said. Alan suppressed his cries of pain as Rich and Lauren helped him up.

"Are you going to kill us?" she asked.

The guys glanced at each other. Then all of them burst out laughing. "No, we're probably not going to kill you, or this brotha here. But this weak little puppy dog, maybe. "

They laughed again as Alan's eyes grew wide and he stopped whimpering. "We're gonna take you back to base camp. If you got any special talents, I'd say so now. If you're useless, well, we have _special _jobs for you."

And the laughter ended when the serious man in the passenger seat smiled.

"I'll be the one to assign you that special job," he said through a smile of razors.

Something in his voice gave Lauren the chills. Rich glanced at the man with the shark's smile and said, " I was in the military once. I could probably help you guys out in the field."

That made the others laugh again.

"Aren't you a little old, nigga?" The black guy asked. Rich frowned and said in an annoyed voice, "I don't think so, I'm still pretty flexible. And ain't a "nigga" either. Only ignorant people use that word."

The guys looked at each other, a bit confused. One smaller guy in the back said, "You gonna let him talk to like that, Dallas? We just saved this guy's life, and this is how he talks to us?"

Dallas studied Rich for a minute with hard eyes, but Rich didn't seem afraid. He just looked old and tired. "You're lucky we saved you, pops." That was all he said for the rest of the ride. As the trucks rolled into Milltown, Lauren saw just why Rich had been hesitant to go back. Bodies were literally everywhere.

Walking bodies.


	11. Chapter 11

-11-

The humvee jerked as it crunched over the fallen bodies and followed the truck in front. Guys hung out of its windows, firing at the rush of zombies making their way to the line of vehicles. The gunfire was almost deafening, but above the roar of the guns, Rich could hear the whoops of the men firing them.

This was all just a sick little game to them, wasn't it?

Zombies spilled from houses on both sides of the town, and these guys made it look like just another day in the life. Rich closed his eyes so he didn't have to see the carnage and shivered. At least these guys were good. Not one zombie made it across the line of fire.

But still, knowing that the people who had "saved" them weren't the best kind of people in the world put a damper on the feeling of security. Someone put a hand on Rich's shoulder and he opened his eyes. Lauren stared at him, lips quivering and face pale white.

"We were going to go through here, Rich," she said quietly, almost inaudible over the gunfire.

"We wouldn't have made it. Those zombies back there, they were nothing."

He nodded and grabbed her hand. It was cold and clammy. Alan huddled beside him, complaining about his wound and not wanting to look outside. Rich heard Dallas shout something, but he couldn't tell what. "What was that, sir?" He asked. Dallas turned around and smirked.

"You think you can handle this, grandpa?" Then he went back to lodging bullets in the skulls of zombies.

No, he didn't think he could handle it. But he had to.

There was no telling what these people would do if you weren't able to work for them. Rich supposed that's why they'd picked the three of them up, anyway. He shifted his attentions to the right side of the vehicle. They weren't doing so well on this side. There were more zombies, for one. And for another thing, something that looked like a huge skinned mountain lion was prowling around. It held something in its jaws.

Lauren gasped as she followed his gaze. "Rich, do you know what's in its mouth?" She cried.

He didn't.

"That's a little boy, Rich. It's got a kid in its teeth."

It was true, a limp, small body hung from its maw. He could make out a little hand. He turned away and tried not to vomit. Then he looked up at the driver. The old, shirtless man was having the time of his life, or so it seemed. He was crushing fallen bodies and whooping with the rest of them.

"Sir, when are we going to be out of this town?" He asked, slightly woozy. The driver didn't take his eyes off of the road, but said, "Well, at the rate we're goin', maybe never!"

He laughed an insane laugh, saw the disgust in Rich's eyes, and said, "Just pullin' yer leg. By the way, the name's Dwight. "

He stopped laughing and went back to seriously driving. Rich leaned away and tried to get the sickening feeling out of his stomach. It didn't help that the vehicle jerked and rocked every other second, giving him the feeling of being on a ship in a fierce storm. Just when he thought he was about to hurl, one of the men started screaming.

"On the right, damn it! Everyone on the right!" Rich had to duck out of the way or else get trampled by the guys moving to the other side of the vehicle.

Before they could even get their guns out the windows, the hummer lurched. Suddenly, the two wheels on the right were in the air, and all of the men slid back, followed by Rich, Lauren, and a bleeding Alan, piled on top of one another.

"What the hell is this?" Alan croaked as one of the soldiers elbowed him in his wounded shoulder.

The truck behind theirs skidded to a halt, but not before crashing into them. "Oh, shit. What _is_ that thing?" Dwight said in an exasperated voice. The hummer slammed down onto the ground again, and now they could fully see what the problem was.

A _thing_, maybe it was human once, stood right next to the hummer.

The bottom half, the legs, were exposed bones, muscles, and veins. The top half looked like something out of a freak show. A grey mass had formed above the waist, giving it a sort of rhinoceros look. Its arms looked like a body builders, except what used to be muscle was now a grey-blue grisly substance.

The head, if it ever head one, was totally engulfed in a cancerous mass double the size of a watermelon. Rich could make out small holes where the eyes, nose, and mouth should have been, but any other evidence of a head was lost in the pulsating, quivering flesh.

It looked like a growth, a huge tumor.

A huge, foul smelling, _raging_ tumor.

The thing was probably blind, perhaps deaf, but it didn't make the fifteen foot monster any more frightening. It let out a loud, gurgling roar, a raspy sound coming from rotted vocal cords.

"_Get the fuck out of the car_!" screamed Dwight, who was already halfway out before the blink of an eye.

The soldiers all screamed and were crawling over one another, trampling Alan, Rich, and Lauren in the process. There were still zombies, a lot of them, on the left, but anything seemed better than the giant before them.

Alan cried out as his wound leaked blood. Rich picked up the teenager and, not very gently, pushed him out of the hummer.

"Go!" He said above the roars.

Lauren screamed as the vehicle started to rock, and Rich helped her out too. Now he was the only one left in the car. He saw them, running away, glancing back toward the hummer with looks of horror on their faces, and then the roof of the vehicle caved in when giant, meaty fists plowed down.

He was knocked to the floor, with little room now, and no way out of the hummer. It had been smashed in. Shattered glass from the windows littered the floor, and he could feel a shard in his palm. But all the while, all he could think about was the smell.

The horrible, stinking smell of decay.

The car jerked, shook on its axels, metal scraping against metal.

Screaming. Gunshots.

Then his world flipped upside down.

Literally.

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Alan was gasping and tired, and his shoulder hurt like hell, but he ignored it.

He ran for his life, ran away from that giant monster. He looked back to see if Lauren was still behind him.

Yes.

He frantically searched for Rich. Where was he?

Alan stopped running and waited for Lauren. The soldiers around him were given orders to continue killing the zombies, and other guys, all dressed in black and grey, were dragging big, bulky guns out of the remaining vehicles. When Lauren caught up, her face was wet.

"Rich is still in the car!" She managed to gasp before she broke down and sobbed.

"_What_?" He felt like he needed to say something, something more, but words were lost to him. He'd never experienced something like this. Rich was stuck in a hummer; being pounded and beaten by god knows what. He'd risked his life to help them out of it, and they were standing around gaping.

A man dressed in grey camouflage ran past them, shouting, "Get the fuck out of the way, or _do_ something!" That snapped Alan out of his daze.

"We have to get Rich out of there, Lauren."

She stopped crying and looked up at him with red, puffy eyes. "What can we do, Alan? Just go up and say, "Hey, our friend is in there, would you mind _not doing that_?" Look at that thing, Alan. Look at it."

He was looking at it, and what he was seeing was pure, unadulterated, concentrated rage. It started to rain as the soldiers started to open fire. The loud noise seemed to piss it off more, though.

It grabbed the hummer (how, he didn't know; there weren't really any fingers) and pushed it.

Rocked it.

_Rock a bye baby,_ _on the tree top_…Then, it backed up, and slammed into the hummer full force.

_When the wind blows the cradle will rock_… The metal screeched in protest, glass shattered.

_When the bough breaks the cradle will fall_… The vehicle tipped, hung momentarily on two wheels in the air, then flipped all the way over.

_And down will come baby, cradle and all... _The monster roared again and stepped on top of the fallen automobile. It crunched under its girth.

Gunshots rang out.

The bullets tore through the rotting, fatty flesh, but the monster seemed to be just getting started. It leapt off of the car and landed heavily in a puddle of mud. It charged at the line of soldiers, the source of noise. Ran toward Alan and Lauren.

"Come on!" He grabbed her arm and took off running, away from the beast and away from the soldiers. Lauren was slowing down, looking over her shoulder, as tears and rain ran down her cheeks.

"Don't look back! Keep running!" Alan screamed as droplets pelted his face. He and Lauren did not look back as they heard men screaming, the creature screaming, bullets, or crashes. He didn't even know where he was running to.

He just ran. Somehow, they weaved and ducked away from the zombies who were still intent on making a meal out of them. And still, over the sounds of people dying, they did not look back. They had almost made it to the forest, to the now comforting line of tall, dark trees, when a single gunshot, louder than the ones in the distance, rang out. "Where do you think you're going?" Alan stopped running and turned around. The man with the smile of razors stood there, soaked in his all-black uniform, gun raised and pointing at them

. Behind him, a man who Alan had met before. A man he wished wasn't there.

Rick.

The guy that wanted to kill him for no reason, a guy even more sinister looking than razor-smile. He was wearing, almost spitefully, a dark brown suit that was neat and spotless. He stood under a black umbrella to the right of them, looking smug and cynical.

"We meet again. What a shame that we had to meet in such…. horrible situations. Forgive me about earlier, just doing the job." He waved his hand, as if dismissing the fact that he'd almost murdered Alan in the streets.

"Given the current situation, I think it would be best if we left the fighting to the soldiers and went home, hm?" It was an invitation, but not for Alan. He gazed at Lauren with a look of great satisfaction in his eyes. She gave him a dirty look and averted her gaze.

"Today must have been a long one, no doubt. And to think my soldiers stuck such a delicate woman in a vehicle filled with high-strung, tense men. Tsk tsk. I'll have a talk with them, but later. Come with me, you two. Today we ride in comfort. " He said all of this, calmly, putting on a cheery façade, while behind him the grey monster overturned more vehicles and laid siege to whatever was in its path.

The man with the razor-smiled grinned, turned away, and followed Rick to a big, black truck. The wind-shield wipers were working furiously to fling the pouring rain off.

They piled into the vehicle, and sat down on leather seats, while Rick went around and sat in the front. He closed his door and opened the glove-compartment, rifled through things, and pulled out a box.

"Cigar, anyone?" he said through a white-toothed grin.

Alan didn't say anything, and Lauren was shivering and probably crying again. The razor-smile man nodded and grabbed a big fat cigar and lit up right in the truck. Then, the driver started it and they were cruising casually away from the slaughter behind, followed only by three other trucks.

Alan nervously shifted next to razor-man, who was puffing away and letting the smoke gather around Alan. The aroma was over-bearing, and he broke out into a fit of coughs.

"For Christ's sake, Warren, open a god-damned window before I make you eat that cigar!" The driver scolded and, although shooting dirty looks, Warren rolled down the window and continued to puff.

"So, I take it you were in the vehicle that the grey creature destroyed, eh?" asked Rick.

Lauren nodded solemnly. "My— our— friend Richard was left behind in it. He was in it when it was flipped over."

Rick seemed spacey, almost bored. "Yes, it is a sad thing to lose a friend, especially in these times when people are scarce and friends are scarcer. But, you know how it goes, earth to earth, ashes to ashes, dust to dust." He yawned. "Good thing I don't have any friends, though. The smart people, like myself, we don't have any need for friends. Friends just drag us down," he added the last part with a snide emphasis that made Alan want to punch his condescending face in.

Even though they hadn't known Rich for long, it seemed like they'd been together the whole time. Some people just make you feel that way. He was a good person that died too suddenly.

"What _was _that thing, anyway?" Lauren mumbled to herself.

Rick thought the question was directed at him, and said, "It used to be a regular zombie. I have no idea why, but more and more of those things keep popping up all around, especially near the mountains. As you can guess, they're blind. Well, not all the way, but in bright sunlight they can't see a thing, and they become enraged when light shines in their eyes. Also, they are near deaf, the poor beasts, and loud noises also seem to trigger a rampage, much like an elephant or rhinoceros. It is a sad thing that your _friend_ had to be caught up in that." He spat out the word "friend" like it was undercooked meat.

"I sent out a party earlier to get rid of the pests, but it seems they failed to do so and were killed in the process," he added, distantly.

Then, after a few seconds he sat up and smiled. "Well," he clapped his hands together cheerily," you will love base camp. The accommodations most certainly aren't anything you're used to, but you'll learn to appreciate it." He shot a nasty look at Alan.

"But, just so you know, you'll have to earn your keep, and if not, Warren here will take care of that. Right, Warren?" The razors came out again as Warren smirked at Alan, puffing away on his fat little cigar.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The facility wasn't comfy looking or cozy, to say the least.

All the colors were varying shades of grey; broken only by the bright colors on the centerfolds of naked women hanging above the small beds of the soldiers, most of whom were sleeping and snoring rather loudly.

Something smelled bad, but not the rotting kind of bad.

Just old garbage bad.

But, all in all, the place was orderly and secure. A large stone wall surrounded the whole perimeter, the building sat atop a small hill. It wasn't the largest building she'd seen, but it looked like a lot of people, maybe two thousand, could comfortably live here. And they did live here. Only the soldiers slept in the little cots.

Down a long hallway (dimly lit by flickering fluorescent lights) there were doors on either side, presumably rooms. People were going into and out of them, looking either like they just woke up or they hadn't been to sleep in awhile. To the left of where Lauren stood, were the kitchens.

She could smell a sickening sweet concoction wafting from the swinging, warehouse-sized doors. The odd thing about this hustling and bustling scene was that there were no, or very few, women walking about. This troubled Lauren. What if she was one of the only women?

What would happen, in a warehouse filled with grown men?

She rubbed her arms to keep the goose-flesh from breaking out over her. Alan stood close, looking like a wounded puppy. Rick was jabbering away, giving a tour with a little too much pride in his voice.

"And these are the kitchens. We have stockpiled enough food to last about two years. We are growing a garden out back, and, although we have very little, will be harvesting potatoes and yams, hopefully by the time thanksgiving comes around. " He smiled and walked on.

The snoring echoed across the steel and concrete, along with the patter of fat rain drops hitting the steel roof. They wandered down a hallway she'd not seen yet. The hallway was half the size of the one behind her, and this hallway was dark.

Rick talked as he guided them. "Rooms are back down that way, but you'll be issued them later. Down this hall we have our infirmary, weapons room, and latrine. Of course, the toilets do flush, but we must first gather more water before we use them. Right now, some of the men are probably outside collecting the rain in buckets, later to be used as drinking water, the rest, for toilets. I daresay, I'd rather use a bucket than go thirsty, eh?" He chuckled to himself when Lauren and Alan didn't respond.

Then, he stopped walking. "This wing of the building is specifically for the females. You will be escorted there, shortly," he added, nodding at Lauren.

"This young man will be sent to the infirmary to be checked out. That's some wound there, son. Lucky if it's not infected. Oh, and also," he whipped around and faced them. "You will be given a uniform, one pillow, a sheet, and a wool blanket," he said sternly.

"As far as personnel possessions go, there are none. Not until you prove your worth. Starting first thing tomorrow, you will be put into a group and work, and you will earn privileges. Now, if you'll excuse me, miss, I will lead the boy to the infirmary. I'll be back shortly." He walked off without waiting for Alan.

Alan slowly trudged along behind him, glancing back to Lauren with fear and confusion in his eyes. She felt bad for him. He'd seen so much, almost been killed. But, hadn't she, too? She stood awkwardly in the hallway, listening to the rain hit the roof, watching people go hurriedly into the kitchen, feeling alone.

A couple of passing men walked by and whistled at her, only to be shouted at by the men sleeping on the small cots.

_If only Rich were here_, she thought. She'd felt protected when he came along. Until then, she had to be the brave one, the one to lead Alan and…Carol. But when he came along, he almost seemed to know what to do. He was like a father figure. But he was gone, and here she was, soaked, looking like a drowned rat, and standing in a dark hallway.

Finally, after what seemed like an hour, Rick returned.

For some reason, not having Alan at her side made her jumpy when he was around. He put his arm around her shoulders and led her onward. She didn't like it, but she kept quiet. "Now that he's getting fixed up, you won't have to worry," he said.

_Like that's going to help me from not worrying_, she thought.

They were at the end of the corridor and turned left, went through a door, and it was suddenly like they were in a sweatshop. Women sat around, either sewing patches on uniforms or re-stitching pants, lacing boots, or polishing weapons. There were no older women, the oldest probably being forty, the youngest twelve.

The thing that disgusted Lauren the most, though, was that each and every woman was _pregnant_, even the young girls.

At the far right of the big, square room, something wailed.

A baby. The women at the end were nursing, changing, and taking care of babies. "Most of them don't live, you see," Rick said casually, like this wasn't the most appalling thing in the world. "We run low on medicine, and most die from sicknesses or miscarry. " He saw the disgusted look on Lauren's face and sighed.

"To rebuild society, we need people. Women are life-bringers, fruit-bearers, the key to civilization. Trust me; they are all In good hands. And my men are all eager and willing participants who take care of them. The roles, you see. The man as the protector, the head of house, the ones who bring home the bacon. The women take care of the children; look after the 'house', so to speak. Cook. Clean. This is how we do things."

Lauren couldn't believe her ears. "What? You're running a fucking harem is all that you're doing, you sick bastard!"

His face went from cheery to serious in no time flat. "If you have no use, you can opt to visit Warren," he said. Then, the turned to the women and clapped his hands. Everyone stopped what they were doing and looked at him.

"Now, this woman chooses to not compromise. Does she want to see Warren?" All the women, in unison, shook their heads, some with wide eyes.

"No."

"And does she want to find a way to help this society, to keep humanity thriving?"

All together, "Yes."

He turned back to her, and the noise started again. "You see, this isn't a democracy. It's either you help out, or you pay some other way. I'll be back later to assign your room and uniform. Good day." He stepped out of the room and closed the door before she could answer. She ran to it and tugged the handle.

It wouldn't budge.

She let out a cry and sank to the floor. One mess after the other. That's all it's been.

She felt alone, hopeless, lost. She wished for Alan. She wished for Rich. She wished for Carol. Wait, no. Not Carol. There were no old people; she could see that. Why was that? She got up, walked to the nearest girl her age, a slender redhead with bright green eyes and a plump belly, who was sewing a ratty pocket back onto a green uniform top. "Uh, hello. I'm Lauren."

She held her hand out to the woman. Not taking her eyes away from her work, the woman replied, "Nice to meet you, Lauren. I'm Andrea."

Lauren let her arm drop to her side and looked around again. "Do you guys… girls, live here?" she asked.

Andrea shook her head and finally looked up to Lauren. "Ooh, you're a pretty one. Just watch out, all right?" Then she slapped her hand over her mouth.

"I am so sorry. I didn't mean that. I mean, you're probably already frazzled as it is, and here I am… well, anyway… no, we don't live in here. This is just where we work during the day. We have assigned rooms and all that." Now, for the big question, the one she thought she already knew the answer to.

"Are there any old people here?" Andrea looked confused at first, but then shook her head solemnly.

"Nope, they all go to see Warren, and don't come back."


	12. Chapter 12

-12-

"Jesus kid, you're the king of bluff," muttered Arnold, a twenty-five year old red head.

A thick cloud of smoke rose from between his lips and occasionally out of his nose every time he spoke. Alan had just bluffed his way into beating a flush with a six-pair, and now he'd collected enough food rations to last him at least a few weeks. The guys were amazed at his amazing poker face. He smiled widely as he gathered up the bits of cardboard that indicated rations, explained to him by his fellow bunk-mates, to be one meal per cardboard piece.

The small, rectangular room (most likely used as a storage room in previous ownerships) was filled with a thick cloud of smoke and smelled strongly of cheap, watered-down booze. The only bottle of said booze was now half-empty as it was.

"Hey, Arnie, fill up the alcohol again," muttered Phil, an old man who was already too drunk to notice that it was becoming more like water as the time went on.

Arnold quit complaining long enough to pour more water into the bottle, swish the contents around, and take a big, long swig before passing it around. When it came to Alan, he looked apprehensively at the bottle and tried to pass it off.

"Hey, no way, kid. Greenhorns drink the backwash, that's the rule," burped Chuck, an overweight, balding man with a porn-star mustache.

"Don't be a little pansy-ass."

Alan took a deep breath, pinched his nose, and chugged the rest of the liquid down.

"Oh my god, I can't believe he did that!" Arnold was red-faced with tears rolling down his cheeks.

"Man, I spit in that," remarked Phil.

Alan shrugged it off, trying not to let on that he was about to vomit. Their little "get together" had started when, after being in the infirmary for a couple of hours trying to remove the bullet, he'd been assigned the room with Arnold. There were the two cots, the same as the others. A hard, chunky pillow, a scratchy blanket, and a smelly sheet. The room was otherwise a bare place, with only the small card table and one hanging light bulb.

When he'd first entered the room, he was surprised at some clippings hanging on the walls by Arnold's bed. Not the usual naked woman, but newspaper clippings of about the same time the zombie attacks started. At any rate, Arnold introduced him to Phil and Chuck, who always held a poker game after hours. Now, after a slight alcohol buzz, Alan was really getting into whooping these guys' butts.

"Fuck this, I fold," said Phil. He leaned back in his chair and took another drag on his last cigarette.

The game was winding down, and eventually they just quit all together and said their goodbyes. Phil stood up and walked out after grunting a slurred goodbye, and Chuck began gathering his moldy cards up.

"See you guys tomorrow. Oh, and Arnie? Go easy on the little kid, eh?" Then he burst into a thundering laughter and waddled out of the room, leaving Arnold and Alan alone together.

When no one else was around, he wasn't much of a conversationalist. He just swaggered over to his cot and laid down.

"Would you get the light?" he asked quietly. Alan flicked the switch and the small room vanished, replaced by a solid wall of blackness. He had to feel his way to his own bed. He sat down but knew he wouldn't be able to go to sleep.

"So… Arnie," he began. From the other side of the room," It's Arnold, until I get to know you."

"Okay… Arnold. So, who was your bunk-mate before me?"

Silence for a few seconds.

"A guy named Jason. He was really a stand-up dude. Didn't take any crap. Especially from Rick. Man, that guy is a ball-buster for sure…," he trailed off, probably in thought.

"What happened to him?"

"He disappeared the day before yesterday. A whole group was slaughtered. But his body was unaccounted for, him and another guy named Jay. Now _that_ guy was a trip."

Silence.

"What did Chuck mean by 'go easy on him'?"

Arnold yawned. "He means that I'm gay. Don't worry though, you're not my type." With that thought he dozed off into an alcohol-induced sleep.

Alan lay awake in the cold darkness for awhile, digesting the idea of someone casually talking about a disappearance. The idea gave him chills. He also thought about Lauren, and Rick. That guy was bad news. He had something up his sleeve, a secret agenda, or maybe he was just bat shit insane. Either way it was bad. He turned to his side and faced the stone wall, the uncomfortable bed creaking with every motion.

He wondered about what Lauren was up to. Hopefully she'd been assigned a room with someone nice. Now that it was just him and her, he felt like he had to protect her. He was a man, right? If he was, then he didn't feel much like one. He had run away the grey monster, left Rich to die while he was too busy being a coward. Rich was the real man. He died to save them, and he'd just tucked his tail between his legs and left.

As he lay there, thinking about Rich; about the guy whose body had disappeared; about Lauren, about Carol, and about Stacey, he nodded off to sleep. He dreamt nothing, luckily.

That night some divine providence, God perhaps, looked down on his misfortune and blessed his sleep with no dreams.

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

It was night time, but he didn't really care much at this point.

He'd been cut up and bruised and been cold for the last twenty-four hours and he really didn't give a damn right now. He just trudged through the woods, thinking about his goal, his objective. His driving force. Now, living didn't matter.

Getting even did. And it wasn't just that; it had to be done for the sake of humanity. Jason finally emerged from the forest with murder in his mind. No, not murder. Murder was executed with the intention of evil.

This was almost a holy mission. God knew, oh yes, he knew the evils of this one man. His manipulative mind, the way he uses people for his horrible objectives. He lusts for power; he craves to be needed. But he isn't needed, and he knows this. And he will make people need him, even if he does it himself. Jason now walked out onto the open road. Behind him was Milltown. The road ahead lead directly to base camp.

He had to reach it before dawn, before the morning "rounds" started. The awful rounds. So he had to be quick, there was only a few hours left of darkness. Then he had to find Rick and kill him before his followers found out. Then, after that, just rescue the poor people.

The people who, much like in a cult, were not safe or free, but live by the rules of Rick himself. Jogging down the road, he began to plan out _exactly _how he would kill the son-of-a-bitch_._

_--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------_

They were awoken by a shrill whistle. It seemed like Alan had just gotten to sleep not only five minutes ago, and now they were getting up to start work.

Last night, the nurse, a Venezuelan pharmacist named Jeanie Vargas who had given Alan extremely strong pain killers, had explained the morning rituals. At four o'clock sharp, the first round of men would wake up and patrol the perimeter. They'd set up traps along the outside of the compound (an extremely dangerous job, according to Ms. Vargas). At exactly seven o'clock, the second call would wake up the soldiers who slept in the main hall.

They would spring out of their cots, fully clothed, and set posts around the outside. During the day they would shoot down any stray zombies and sound the alarms. The first shifts (the group that Alan belonged to, known as the grunt shift) would then proceed to dispose of the decomposing bodies and reset any traps that were set off.

So, as Alan stumbled out of bed and felt along the walls for the light switch, men were filing out of their rooms for the grunt shift. It took Alan a few minutes to actually find the switch, turn it on, and get dressed. By that time, most of the others (who probably had slept in their uniforms) were waiting in the main hall while the guys that had been out overnight burst through the front doors, cursing and complaining and tired.

They were separated into four groups consisting of six people. Alan was in a group with Arnold, a tall bald man named Tom, a New York Jew named Joshua, a loud-mouthed man in his late thirties who insisted on being called "Colonel" even though he admitted he was never one, and a silent, blonde-haired boy that was about his age that didn't say much. After being placed in the groups, they had to stand in line and wait to be assigned a weapon.

After that was all done, they were released outside. It was still dark when Alan's group began to patrol. It was cold and damp, and very quiet. It would have been peaceful if it hadn't scared him shitless. They wandered around in silence, a few feet away from the edge of the forest. The only person who tried to start a conversation was Joshua, and he was failing miserably.

"So, I see we have a rookie with us. You think you can handle the grunt shift, kid? Gets pretty messy sometimes."

Alan shrugged. "I didn't have much of a choice; they just told me where I had to be and what to do."

"Ah, I get it. Probably because they don't think you can handle a gun. Well, stick with Joshie here and you'll be working the night shift in no time. Trust me, much better." He smiled like he had accomplished something.

"Oh, would you shut it? Jesus Christ, can't we have a minute of silence? It's four in the morning. Why do I always get in a group with you?" Tom spat a loogie to the side and wiped his face.

"It's freaking ten degrees out here. There's never anything exciting, either. All the action is in at night. All we get out here is the stragglers that slipped past the night shift and are wandering around like retarded children."

Alan sighed and took the lead, shoes crunching the frosted grass. He was stuck in a group of whining babies. Great. Colonel followed behind Alan, eyes suspiciously darting left to right.

"I bet you they're not just stragglers. See, I think the zombies're smarter than we think. They are just as dangerous in the mornin' as they are at night. Keep vigilant, ever vigilant…" he trailed off and was ignored. Arnold walked at the back of the line, and every few minutes he'd sigh.

"What's wrong with you, queer?" Tom asked.

Arnold shot him a cold look but didn't answer. The blonde haired boy just continued walking in silence.

"Did you not hear me or something? I said _what's wrong_?"

"Nothing, not a thing. We're just trudging around outside, in the early morning, freezing our asses off, during a fucking _zombie apocalypse_, and you people make idle conversation like it's nothing. And don't call me a queer, you inbred redneck." Alan stopped walking, awkwardly holding his gun, and said, "Now, come on. Do we really have to do this first thing in the morning?"

Tom didn't notice, and kept right on going. "Listen, the only reason you're still alive is because you have a sharp eye. You're lucky they stuck you in with the grunt shift. You're unlucky that they stuck you in my group," he sneered.

Arnold's face, although hidden partly by shadow, was one of pure rage. He looked like he was about to explode any second. He was almost going to say something when something snapped out in the woods. They all fell silent, except for Colonel, who kept babbling bout zombies and something about the 'government involvement'.

"Shut up," snapped the blonde-haired boy, who had a deep, raspy voice, as though he had a cold. The forest was quiet, except for the occasional light snapping of a twig. Thankfully, the moon came out and brightened up their surroundings.

The snapping was getting slowly closer. They all froze, not sure what to do.

"You think it's one of _them_?" Joshua whispered.

"No, the sound is not deliberate. Not hurried, but gentle almost…" Colonel spaced out again, staring in the direction of the sound.

The noise stopped suddenly, replaced by silence. Then, out of the edge of the forest directly in front of them, a small doe stepped out into the wet grass. It slowly walked out, head down, grabbing blades as it wandered by. It looked up at them for a moment, made sure they were not a threat, and then stopped and grazed. No one said a word as they looked at the deer. No, it was not dead. It was alive, the first live animal they'd all probably seen in awhile.

They all stared, not breathing.

Then, the doe's ears shot straight up, it stood erect, stiff. In an instant, a huge figure was on top of it, ripping flesh off of the still-alive animal's skin. It cried out, its whimpers drowned by the blood erupting out of its mouth. The huge beast was about three times the size of the deer, with antlers almost as long as the animal itself. A huge moose loomed over the deer carcass, hairless, grey skin wet and gleaming in the moonlight. Alan stood, mouth hanging open in surprise and shock.

"Fuck this shit. Undead moose, my ass," Tom started shooting at it; bullets hit the dead flesh, tore off the skin, internal organs hanging out, glistening. As he screamed from thrill, Colonel screamed from something else. Behind them, four or five dead wolves had circled and one had pinned him down on the ground. It had literally ripped his face off; his exposed neck was instantly bitten, jugular torn, his shriek cut short as a burst of blood spurted from his open wounds. The undead wolf lapped up the fluids greedily, making a grunting sound much like a pig. The moose was now on Tom, who was whooping even though a huge, undead beast charged at him.

Alan, Arnold, Joshua, and the blonde kid stood in between the moose and the wolves, who were now all feasting on Colonel. Tom was thrown into the air the next moment; he'd been impaled by the antlers. He flew by the small group, screaming the whole way, and landed next to the undead wolves. "Fucking help me!" he screamed, blood staining the ground. They all only stared at him. The wolves continued to eat Colonel, but they slowly were taking notice to Tom. "You're all queers! I should've known… I should have… fuck you!" Then the wolves silenced him. His body twitched and then stopped as they broke his neck.

"Oh, man. Where'd the moose go?" Joshua stammered, head whipping in all directions frantically.

As if to answer him, it leapt out of the forest and landed on him, killing him instantly, his spine severed and his breath cut short. Alan, Arnold and the blonde kid had only time to scream out in surprise. Then, they ran as fast as they could away from the zombies, back to base camp.

They ran screaming, forgetting their guns. Only when they crossed back into the safe zone did they stop to rest.

But when they came back, they were met by a lot of angry looking men.

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

"Do you realize how much you cost us?" Warren said. Alan sat next to the blonde kid, who he now learned was named Nick. They were in a lot of trouble, mainly for 'leaving' their team members, and somehow Arnold had escaped punishment.

"You cost us three lives. We only have so many people. You could have at least retrieved their weapons, ammo, but I guess you're too incompetent. You even forgot your own guns, hm?" He stood in front of them, watched as their cold faces began to become warm again, leaving soft, rosy areas on their cheeks and mistaking it for blushing.

"Well, incompetence is not forgivable. You will be sent to do rounds. Both of you."

Nick's face turned pale. Alan didn't understand.

"What are the rounds?"

Warren smiled his evil smile.

"Soon enough you will find out. This afternoon, actually."

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

It was cold and uncomfortable. Throughout the night, girls would come in and out; some escorted by men, some alone. Every time Lauren would get stepped on as one of them made their way back to their beds. Every time, as they passed, she could smell the sweat. The shame. And every time, the rage inside her threatened to boil over.

She'd stopped feeling sad now. She was just pissed off. She sat up; she couldn't sleep anyway, and stared at the thin line of light that came through the crack in the door. Maybe she could wait until one of the girls came back, then stick her foot out and keep the door unlocked. She quickly dismissed the idea, though. There were guards out by the doors, she knew it. She grabbed handfuls of her hair and pulled in frustration.

Where was Alan? Didn't he notice her absence? Or had they… No, they didn't kill him.

But, she was beginning to feel not-so-sure about that. From what she gathered, they killed off the old and disabled people. They were capable of probably a lot of things, too. A woman shifted beside her. Lauren flopped back down onto the ground again, sighing in defeat.

There was no way out of this. She just wanted to live, be left alone. She missed her boyfriend, her apartment. Even her job as a teacher. She missed Carol and Rich, missed going to the grocery store, missed doing dishes, which she hated the most. She missed a lot of things she'd taken for granted.

She shook those sad, depressing thoughts out of her head, and tried to get some more sleep. Finally, after about an hour, she dozed off.

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Jason neared the compound. He could see the building in the growing light. He weaved his way through the trees. This was the tricky part. First he'd have to get past the sentries. Then he'd have to actually get into the building.

But how?

He knew about the wall that surrounded the place. He knew when and where the gates were opened. He guessed he'd have to do it when they started the rounds at twelve thirty. Until then, he'd have to wait outside. He'd have to stay undetected. Then, once he entered, he'd kill Rick and then make his way into the weapons room after getting all of the women out, and then he'd blow the whole place and all of the mother fuckers up.

Jason leaned against a tree, eyes set on the base, heart filled with anger. Rick had sacrificed the lives of others for his own benefit. That wasn't going to happen ever again.

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

She woke up in a lot of confusion. Women were darting around, grabbing things, going into and out of the doors, which were now propped open. Lauren sat up, stretched, and then casually walked out of the doors. No one stood in the hallway.

She made her way down the corridor and tried the door. Locked. Of course. Why had she even bothered? She sighed and walked back into the large room. Most of the women had their own rooms, but a lot of them, including herself, had to share the large workroom doubling as a sleeping quarters. The women had started work again. Lauren felt out of place, standing in the middle of the room with a dumb look on her face. She finally found Andrea and asked her what she was supposed to do. "Well, we all were assigned to do this. First you'll probably have to ask Rick. He comes by here often, usually around noon." Then she went back to sewing. Lauren then wandered around for a few hours, killing time. She didn't see a clock and couldn't tell what time it was, and almost died of boredom and a headache. One baby had been crying for literally hours.

Finally, when she thought her head was about to explode, the doors opened and Rick waltzed in. She caught his gaze and he signaled to her. She followed him out of the room, the door now unlocked, and into a hallway with no one in it.

"Now, I know you object to this, but it's for their own good. I've forbidden any of the men to claim you during the night; and let me say, you were asked about quite often. Please follow me into my office, were I can assign you a job. Not every woman becomes a mother," he added, and she hated him. He led her into a large, rectangular room, filled with books and newspapers and a desk. A clock was propped on the wall. It was twelve o'clock exactly. Rick sat down in a cushy, yet moldy, chair and offered Lauren a stool. She sat down facing him. He crossed his hands over his chest and smiled.

"So, what was your profession before all of this started?" She hesitated before answering.

Should she tell him the truth? Depending on what she answered, she'd either be spared from sewing and cleaning babies, or forced to do some other job. "I was a chef. A gourmet chef," she replied. He nodded.

"Very well. We need a good chef. You will work in the kitchens." She began to get up, but he stopped her. "I'd like to discuss certain things with you… Ms…," he stared at her expectantly.

"Brent. Ms. Brent."

"Ah, alright Ms. Brent. Well, I'd like to tell you, that if you will be staying here, you must… well, how can I say this? You must be of value to our little community. What I'm trying to say is, being a cook will not be enough. Most women prefer, instead of hard labor, to…. to keep our men happy and satisfied." He smiled widely, white teeth glistening.

"You mean, they whore their bodies out? Not going to happen. What if I don't want to be part of 'your little community'? What then?"

His smile became less charming. "Ms. Brent, I would like to share something with you, something that will make you think twice about leaving us. You do know that the zombies are caused by a virus?" She nodded slowly.

"Well, let's just say that I used to play a major part in studying this virus. Let's just say that I know a lot more about this than you. Would you entertain a listen?"

She nodded again, but this time less sure.

"Well, the research that was conducted found that the virus responds to a plethora of stimuli, such as light, sound, touch, etcetera. Most of us humans, internally, we have the mechanisms that trigger responses from the virus. That's why, when in contact with the virus, the zombification happens so abruptly in some, while sometimes slower in others. It may be slowed or sped up by metabolism, who knows. But, let me say this; the virus spreads fast. Whoever hadn't changed by contact would've changed by the airborne strain." He saw the look on her face.

"Yes, that's right, an airborne strain. There may be few who survived, purely on luck, but right now, this very instant, every one of us alive is _infected with the virus_. We all house the very thing that threatens all life." He got up and paced quickly, talking fast.

"We found out that some of our bodies contain something that slows down the rapid spread of the virus. It could take up to thirty years for it to totally inhabit our bodies. And all without the symptoms. Clearly a biological last resort, the kind never seen before, never imagined. But, the very thing to save mankind can turn it into the deadliest species ever, even more deadly than normal zombies. By altering the one thing that protects us from becoming the enemy, by playing _God_, we can create a bigger, meaner creature. The grey thing earlier, that was just a sample of what I— it— can really do. It was created by me, you see. But that was just a failure, miss. You saw the raw, untamed power, right? It gets much better than that. It can be controlled. A new super race will be born. And with so many new test subjects, I could literally create an army!"

He laughed insanely.

Lauren was frightened now. "Y-you mean the newborn babies? That's why you're doing this? You're breeding test subjects?"

He continued laughing and walked behind her. "My, you are a smart one. The first one's I tested this theory on were the few old people we rescued. They ultimately failed; their bodies were old and ravaged and could not withstand the virus, which had been stripped of its deathly qualities but kept its durableness and power. They inevitably were consumed, too much of it and their bodies produced large amounts of tumors, a side effect that you saw in the grey monster. Too little and they died a slow, painful death. Either way they were failures. After much testing, I found the right amount should be used on the young. And with so many willing men under me, the young will never be too far away from my grasp," he cackled.

Lauren suddenly felt ashamed; Stacey saw this coming, she knew of the virus's adaptability, so she must have known about how it could be manipulated. She probably worked for Rick.

After seeing the grey monster and all of its sheer strength, what little chance of humanity rebuilding was gone, and if not would be ruled by super-mutants under Rick's control. But could he control it, or was the 'super-race' just another feral zombie, hungering for human flesh?

Either way it would turn out gruesome. This madman had to be stopped.

"You're crazy," she said.

"Am I? Or am I just finding a way to adapt to a new world?" Then, he lunged at her. He grabbed her hair and slammed her down onto his desk. She let out a scream as her head hit the hard wood. "You will not leave here," Rick gasped, sweating.

Then, he unbuckled his pants.

She gasped and tried to lash out at him, but his body weight pressed down on her.

She couldn't breathe; his fingers were closed around her throat. Then he let out a laugh and pulled her pants down.

She screamed and screamed as he forced his way into her.

She couldn't feel, she was numb. She couldn't hear, she just saw him laughing.

All the while she screamed.


	13. Chapter 13

-13-

"All our knowledge merely helps us to die a more painful death than animals that know nothing." - Maurice Maeterlinck

Alan suddenly and surely knew what the rounds were all about.

Behind the building was a large, open field bordered by forest. Many, many people were lined up, facing the mountains on the other side. Behind them were about fifty men, armed and ready. Ahead, the looming mountain range and certain death. They were to run, all one-hundred and fifteen of them, from one end of the field to the other. Along the way, many zombies would notice them from the infested forests and come out.

They were the bait. Most of them would die. The rest would be used the next day. And so it went until they all died. If any tried to escape, they would be shot down by snipers. Alan stood silently. He wished he knew where Lauren was, if she was safe or not. He would probably be dead within the next hour or so. The sun was high in the sky, and the still air was beginning to grow hot. He suppressed his tics, wanting to die his way and not the way of his Tourette's

. He swallowed hard, stared straight ahead, and focused on the mountain. He'd make a break for it; what was there to lose? Warren stood behind the group, laughing openly and spitting on them. Now Alan knew why this man gave off a bad vibe; he was in charge of punishment, the executioner. And he enjoyed his job a little too much.

"All right you fuck-ups, get ready. At the sound of the gun you run, and you yell, and you make noise. The zombies will follow you. No use in trying to escape, you'd die in the woods after a mere hour, you pussies."

It happened too quickly. The gun shot, and before he knew it he was running. He was running for his life. He was screaming along with the rest of them, for what reason he didn't know. As he ran, he started thinking about the situation. Why not just let the zombies get him? It'd be much easier… no, he wouldn't go like that.

He had to snap out of it. He had to escape. They'd made it only a few yards before the zombies poured out of the woods. There were bear zombies and deer zombies and people zombies. They came out, and the ones nearest the forest's edge were brought down. Some of the people that didn't die from the zombies were hit by the barrage of bullets erupting from behind them. Alan was in the middle, which was good for now, but would be tricky once he tried to escape into the forest.

The people screamed, there was blood. He noticed he was crying. Not for himself, which was a big surprise. He cried for what a big fuck-up the human race was to the earth. He cried for the innocent people. He cried for Rich. He even cried for his mommy. Then, he saw his break and snapped out of it. He ducked in between two zombies mauling down a woman, resisting the urge to help her. He ran to the right, slowly pushing his way through people and zombie alike. Then he was in the open, carnage on one side, forest on the other. He sprinted to the forest, hearing the bullets smacking the ground behind him. He could almost feel the red dot from the sniper on the back of his head, and waited for the shot while he ran. But it didn't come, and he tore into the forest going full speed. He zipped past the trees, passing a zombie here and there. He made his way deeper but also circled around.

He had to get Lauren. Finally after running such a long distance, he collapsed onto the ground. His cheeks stung from the vines that whipped his face, but overall he was all right. He sat in the shade of the trees and sobbed. He still heard the gunshots in the distance, heard screams. He waited until it all died down before he stood up again. He froze. Out of the corner of his eye, he thought he saw something. No, just paranoia.

Then, a voice. "Didn't think I'd see you ever again."

The deep voice. Alan whipped around, fresh tears in his eyes. He saw him, standing there, all bloody and bruised, with a huge grin on his face.

"Rich," he whispered.

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Jason was now inside the building. No one had noticed his entrance; most of them probably didn't recognize him. He was sure that Rick hadn't planned his arrival. He slipped down the corridor, making his way to the back. He had a pair of keys in his hands that would unlock the door to the women's room. Then he'd tell them to leave, find and kill Rick, grab the explosives, and blow the place to Timbuktu. He whistled as he walked down the hall.

Then, he heard a muffled thump. Then a woman's scream. He stopped dead in his tracks. He heard voices coming from inside Rick's office. "You fucking bastard," he muttered. When he tried to open the door, it was locked. He fumbled with the keys. There was one for this door, he knew it. He finally found it, slid it in, and turned.

When he opened the door, he wasn't noticed.

Mainly because Rick had a small, blonde woman bent over his desk, trousers down, the woman's head covered in blood and smashed into the table.

The woman squirmed under his firm grip on her neck. She was choking and sputtering on her sobs. Jason ran in and before he knew it was on top on the pant less Rick, beating the shit out of him.

"You—fucking— bastard!" With every word came a hard blow to the sweaty pig's face.

Rick screamed like a girl and flopped beneath him. His face was beet red, due to either embarrassment or rage. It was probably rage. The woman slid off of the desk and landed hard on the ground with a burst of new tears.

Dark welts had appeared where Rick's fingers had been. Rick had wiggled free and was now kicking Jason in the jaw, making him bite down on his own tongue.

Blood ran down his chin.

"You're alive! You should be _dead_!" He grabbed Jason's arm, caught him off guard, and wheeled it behind his back, knocking him to the floor. The woman screamed and scrambled up, pulling on her pants and trying to calm down.

"I'll have to kill you the hard way— with my bare hands!" Rick started punching Jason in the head, slamming it into the concrete floor. He stood up and kicked the now-bleeding man over with his foot, forgetting about the woman.

"Now, I'll teach you a lesson you'll never forget—"

Then he was down. The woman had smacked a stool over his head and he crumpled like a piece of paper. Jason lay gasping for breath, literally drowning in the blood coming from his tongue. The woman propped him up, now she had stopped crying.

"Are you okay?" she asked quietly. He nodded and closed his eyes. "You okay? Are you bleeding still?" She shook her head.

"No, I'm not. Thanks for saving me. I'm Lauren." He smiled at her.

"Nice name. Now, excuse me while I kill him." She gladly stepped back. But then she gasped. Jason opened his eyes and saw Rick, head bleeding, wielding and axe. He'd somehow fallen and slid behind his desk where the weapon had been hidden.

"Fun time's over, Jason," he said manically. He dove toward him, narrowly missing his leg as he jumped up out of the way. "Let's go!" Jason screamed as he grabbed Lauren by the wrist and led her out of the office.

Rick laughed again as he withdrew a syringe filled with bluish liquid and found a vein, injected himself, and discarded the needle. As he followed them, he screamed, "You know what that was? That was the virus activator, my friends. Now I'm infected with the non-lethal strain!"

And he chased them down the hall, shrieking like an animal.

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Once the needle left his vein, Rick was no longer human.

Changes were being made inside of him; a war of microscopic proportions was being waged deep within him. And he was changing mentally and physically.

He was no longer a he.

He was an it.

And it thirsted for blood.

It didn't need the axe any longer; all it needed was two arms and two legs. It bounded after the two people, could smell them like it never could before. All senses in overdrive. The power. The thrill of it all, it could smell the blood drying. It could taste the sweat coming from their bodies. It rounded a corner and came across two soldiers. They took one look at it and screamed, but their screams didn't last long without a head.

It followed the scent, followed the sound of racing hearts. It looked down at its graying arms, saw the blue veins, felt its temperature drop. Its heartbeat slowed, but that didn't stop it. Then, the hallways were empty.

Not a problem, in any case. It could hear them.

Smell their odors, still could smell its own odor on the woman. They'd gone into one of the vacant rooms, the food storage room. It crashed through the door and slowly walked down the long aisles of canned foods. It passed a window, and its reflection; a swollen shell of what used to be a human, skin grey, hair already falling out.

It was at least two feet taller, its eyes were all whites now. It's nose had begun to sink in, its lips were dissolving into nothing, showing only gum and teeth. It could feel something inside itself dying, a part of it that tied to humans; its conscience.

But, then again, it didn't have a conscience in the first place, did it? Oh, no, Rick had never had one of those.

It let out a laugh, but it sounded more like a howl.

Then it stopped.

The scent was in the room all right, but now it was hard to discern the smell of human to the scent of stored food.

The chase was on.

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Lauren tried to keep her heart from bursting out of her chest. Did Rick just howl?

She hadn't seen what he looked like, hadn't dared to look back. Now her and Jason were separated only by three shelves of conned goods; not a good idea. She glanced at Jason, whose eyes were wide and flitting around the room. He looked at her and made a hand gesture. He pulled something out of the air and aimed. A gun! She nodded. He gave her the thumbs up, and then mimicked opening a door. There must've been a weapons room nearby.

She nodded gravely and pointed to where Rick stood, just breathing heavily and sniffing occasionally. He looked panicked, then jumped slightly when he heard cans crashing to the ground as Rick pushed items out of his way. Lauren almost cried out but stopped herself. Jason slowly edged to the end of their aisle, glanced around, and then looked at her. He pointed in the opposite direction, behind them. So, the beast was at the end.

The door was in front of them, now it was just a matter of slipping away before it could find them. Then, behind Lauren, a can fell off of the shelf. The monster stopped. Lauren glanced back to where Jason had been, but he was gone. The monster was right behind her now, the next aisle over, and had heard the can fall. She was dead. Then, from the other side of the room came the crashing of a shelf.

The monster darted back over there and she was left alone, now worrying about Jason. But he had somehow slipped unnoticed back to where she was. He grabbed her arm and dashed toward the door, opened it quietly, and then led her down the hallway. He wheeled to the left and pulled out some keys. He slowly went through them, trying not to let them jingle together. Then he found the right one and they were in the walk-in closet from hell; filled with guns of all sizes, grenades, rocket-launchers, you name it.

He grabbed a fairly large gun off of a rack and handed it to her, then grabbed a similar one. After loading them quickly and taking a few grenades for both of them, she followed him back out. They ran down the hall to the women's room. Behind them, a shrill howl.

"Shit!" Jason proclaimed, and they quickly entered the workroom.

"Listen to me! We need your attention! There's a monster on the loose, and we're going to blow up this building. Everyone, come out with—"

Jason was sent flying across the room and crashed into a group of women, who screamed and scattered. What stood next to Lauren was something that looked like it would be on sci-fi; a large, looming form. Grey skin, bulging muscles, and a bald head except for a few strands of hair.

Its eyes were clouded whites, its nose had collapsed into its face, and it had no lips, just black gums and teeth.

The clothes were gone, and weird, moving muscles rippled underneath layers of fat-skin. Lauren screamed and ducked just in time, dodging its giant, claw-like hand by centimeters.

It let out a roar and tore into the crowd of pregnant women, ripping their huge stomachs open, blood pouring over and pooling onto the ground.

The women shrieked and began running frantically around, not knowing where to go. Jason slowly stood up and tried to calm them down.

"Please— listen!" he staggered like a drunk.

"The exits are open, we unlocked them; you can leave!"

But no one was listening. Lauren fought her way through the maze of people and grabbed Jason's arm.

"They're not going to listen. We have to go, there's no other choice. It's either we kill that thing now, or have it run rampant out in the wilderness."

He looked into her eyes regretfully, and then nodded. They ran to the front of the room as a giant claw swiped through the air, tearing people in half. Lauren was almost about to gag. "Where are all of the soldiers?" she asked, now remembering how empty the place was.

"Outside, watching the rounds, the bastards."

The rounds? What was that?

When they stopped in front of the door, Jason took his gun and fired several times into the air. It caught the attention of the monster, which stopped as it cornered a group of people. It was on all fours, now looking like more of a wild animal as it sniffed the air.

Then it raised to its full height as it stood on two legs. It dashed to Jason and Lauren, eyes feral and mouth barred.

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

"I can't believe it! We thought you were dead…" Alan felt a wave of happiness go over him.

Rich stood there, his clothes were ripped and bloody, his palms were cut, but he still had a goofy smile plastered on his face.

"Yeah, I know. When that thing crushed the hummer, I thought I was a goner. But then, as the car tipped, I slid to one end. It jumped right on the place where I was just at, but I managed to squeeze under and avoid gettin' smashed. The tricky part was climbing through the windows after they'd been bent."

Then his face went dark, and his smile vanished. "Those guys…. All of them died. That thing went berserk when they fired a rocket launcher at it, and then it just ran around and plowed into everything until its skin was in shreds and black blood poured out of it, and I mean buckets.

The smell, I couldn't describe it to you. Finally when I had climbed out of the truck I thought I was home free, but guess again. There was a zombie-cougar or something out there and I nearly had my arm ripped out of my socket. Long story short, I made my way in the direction you guys went." Rich must've seen the glint of guilt in Alan's eyes, and he put a reassuring, fatherly hand on his shoulder.

"Listen, kid. I know you and Lauren thought I was dead, and I would have left, too. It was thanks to the lord almighty that I survived, and you had no choice in it." Then he hugged him. Alan knew it hurt him, it probably hurt to blink with all of his wounds, but still Alan couldn't help hug back. He'd never been hugged like that. Then, the moment ended and Rich stood tall, wiped away something in his eye, and looked firmly at Alan.

"Where's Lauren? We need to get out of here, fast. Stacey must have slipped a note in my pant pocket, and I found it when I was throwing out my old money and keys. It's got some bad news on it." Then out in the forest they heard laughter.

"Here, little piggy, piggy, piggy! Come on out to play!" They were searching the forest for him.

"Rich, you go, now. I'll keep them busy. They want me; they don't know you're out here. Lauren is inside the base somewhere. When you find her, tell her I said sorry for leaving her. Tell her…"

Then he trailed off.

Rich shook his head. "No, I'm not leaving you. You're coming with."

Then he grabbed his arm and they were sprinting through the forest, not caring if they made noises or not. Behind them someone shouted. They weaved in and out of trees, ducked under branches, and then emerged into daylight. The building loomed ahead, dark and cold looking.

All the commotion from earlier drew the zombies out, and they gathered just beside them in the field and forest. Rich and Alan ran as fast as they could to the building, sprinting, pushing themselves. One of the sentries spotted them and fired. A bullet hit Rich in the leg, and he toppled over.

Alan stopped running and turned back around. He grabbed Rich and dragged him out of the line of vision.

"You're gonna be ok, man," he said as he ripped his shirt off and tied it around the bleeding leg. Rich gasped but other than that he was fine. They limped over to the gate.

"How are we going to get in here?" Alan asked. Rich smiled and held up a key ring. "Swiped this from one of the dead soldiers."

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

It could smell them. It had heard the noise, which just made it enraged.

The loud noise.

It could sense the hated man and the horrid woman, even without sight. It was blinded by the brightness.

Blind? It didn't matter. Its senses were on overdrive, amplifying things sevenfold. It charged at the man and woman, lusting for their blood, wanting the warmth of it to wash over its cold, quivering skin. It needed to kill the man, for some reason.

It sliced the people as it ran, ripped open bulging stomachs and letting the redness flow. It had no need for these children; it had to have its own.

The man and woman ran out into the open hall, so it followed. The hall was dark, ah, darkness. It saw blurs of shapes, but no matter. It felt their vibrations. Power, oh the thrill of the chase. It surged forward, crashed through the door, flew past barrels.

Then it saw them do the unexpected. They stopped.

What trickery was this?

No, not a trick.

They had given up. Good, for now it hungered not just for the thrill. But, the man drew something out of his pocket. What was this? He threw it, but it merely bounced off of its thick, leathery hide. It laughed at the stupidity.

It was all powerful, not to be stopped.

But, then, the man said —

"Shut the hell up, you bastard." The grenade had landed right where he wanted it to; next to the fuel barrels.

The monster looked confused, but then the grenade went off, sending flames spreading outward. A cloud of fire engulfed the monster, it bellowed, black smoke rose off of it. Jason and Lauren scrambled to the side and ran in the opposite direction, behind them the monster screamed, echoing off of the walls.

"We have to get out, this place is gonna blow!" Jason shouted. Lauren followed him, stumbled, and then found balance.

"What?" He pointed upward. She looked up and saw many, many pipes that ran along the ceiling. They rounded a corner and flew at the door; inside the smoke was building up and they couldn't breathe. Lauren pushed the door open and slammed into someone. She was not looking for a fight with the bastard soldiers, and she raised her gun to shoot.

But she stopped as she saw Alan, and next to him, a bruised, bloody, smiling black man.

"Rich?!"

She went to hug him but she saw that he flinched and decided not to. Jason was looking around nervously.

"Yeah, guys? Now is _not_ the time for a family reunion. We have to get the fuck away, _now_!" As they ran from the building, Jason heard the sentries shouting orders.

He cupped his mouth with his hands and screamed, "Ay! Bobby, get the fuck out, the place is gonna blow!"

But, too late, the floor underneath him collapsed and a pillar of fire shout outward where he was standing.

Jason turned around and ran with the group, now soldiers were pushing their way to the base, unaware of them, and unaware of what lay inside. Zombies were literally everywhere in front of them; streaming from the forest, running across the field, blocking their paths.

But anything was better than what was behind them. Behind them. The door burst open and the flaming monstrosity roared, its skin charred black and horrible smoke rising off of it. It sliced through the soldiers, cutting most of them in half. It pursued them still, it ran full force, eyes burnt out, nose gone, teeth barred. It outstretched its hand to Jason, but then toppled over. It lay in a heaping, smoldering pile of bubbling flesh.

Boils and blisters had appeared and were now popping all over its hide. It lifted its remnant of a head, screeched, and dragged itself to Alan, who was nearest.

Lauren drew her gun and pumped it, firing round after round at the beast. Its head exploded as a bullet hit dead center, and there it lay, quiet except for its disgusting crackling and popping skin.

Its muscles, the weird, ever-moving muscles were still moving, though

. Lauren stared in disgust as the cracked skin pulled apart, and thick, blood red worms the likes of which she'd never seen before rose from the carcass.

They wriggled and writhed, then caught on fire. If they could scream, she knew it would be horrible. They fell like ropes, fell with a squish as they, too, smoldered. Lauren could barely hold her scream in.

Rich turned around.

Then he laughed.

All the zombies were closing in on them, mouths gaping, arms outstretched, just like the classic horror genre zombie. It was a sight for sore eyes compared to the horrors they'd seen already.

"Well, looks like we've got our work cut out for us," Rich said.

Lauren handed him her gun. He gladly accepted, pumped it, and said," Let's drop it like it's hot!"

Behind them, the building blew up, engulfing the area in flame.

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

-Nine months later-

Lauren sat on the couch and hummed a song from a movie that she forgot.

The fire crackled in the fireplace, the fat logs burning slowly and giving off warmth. She was knitting something, a sweater perhaps.

She forgot.

She sighed, set her work down and sat up. Then she slowly got up and made her way to the kitchen. There was no electricity, but they'd found a generator out back and had been using that. She poured herself another cup of chamomile tea and let the warmth go down her throat.

Then, the front door opened and she jumped, spilling some tea on her shirt. Rich walked in, carrying a bundle of firewood, snow piled on his shoulders. Jason and Alan followed, wiping snow off of their hats and coats. Rich turned to Lauren.

"You got a little something right there, on your shirt." She rolled her eyes.

"Yeah, I know." Then she punched him playfully.

"So, did you guys find anything?" Jason took his boots off and poured out the melted snow, then closed the door.

"Nope, not a single deer out there. Guess we're going to be eating that wonderful spam, eh?" Alan groaned and flopped onto the couch.

"Spam is _so _disgusting! I want real food!" Lauren smiled at his complaining. He'd been quiet the whole week, probably from boredom, and now hearing his voice was a good thing, even if he was being bratty.

"I could make some of those canned veggies, if you prefer," she offered. Rich shook his head. "We told you last night, Lauren; you're not going to do anything in your condition."

Then he stuck his hand out and rubbed her huge, round belly. He knew she hated that, she thought she looked fat.

"I'm pregnant, not dying," she batted his hand away.

Rich laughed. "I know. So, what are you going to name it?"

Lauren cast a look at Jason, who shrugged. "Lauren wants to name it Carol if it's a girl. If it's a boy, though… I want to name it Oscar!"

"Oh, come on! Oscar is a horrible name!" Lauren said.

Alan sat up and kicked his shoes off. "I think you should name it Will if it's a boy. That was going to be my name before Alan."

Jason looked at Lauren and they both nodded. "All right, Will it is."

Then Jason hopped up and kissed Lauren on the cheek. They started laughing.

Rich look worried.

"What is it?" Lauren asked, alarmed.

"Did you hear that?"

Alan sighed. "Rich, you've been hearing things all week. Look, we're in the mountains, and we're fine."

Something crashed outside. A tree toppled over.

All of their faces went white. Rich and Jason ran to the window and looked outside.

A pack of undead wolves ran from the forest, howling and yipping. But it wasn't the wolves they were looking at.

Behind, chasing them was a huge, grey monster with no eyes. Lauren suddenly felt something.

"Oh, no. My water broke." Rich, Jason, and Alan just stared at her. "Do you have to do this now?" Jason asked.

"No, I think I'll just wait a bit. Yes, I have to do it now!"

Outside, the monster roared, and zombies of all kinds began to gather by the house.

"Oh, man. I'm starting to have labor pains."

"Already!?!"

Lauren breathed, panicked, and started crying. "Wait, no. It's not labor pains… it's —"

Something bulged under her stomach. It was like it was tearing her apart in there.

"What the hell?"

The zombies closed in on the house, and inside Lauren screamed...

Dun dun dun! The end! ^-^ I would love if you comment on it. Peace out ~

"**The lives of humans now in the long run do not count for humanity in the future. Therefore, we must not look out for individuals of today, but for the populations of tomorrow."**


End file.
